Doctor Patient Confidentiality
by LondonBelow
Summary: AU. Mark is a successful, bored and lonely doctor. When he treats a young man with a broken arm, Mark does everything he can to ease his pain. But Roger's pain may be more than Mark can handle...
1. Chapter 1

Note: This story is already completely finished. It is madly AU, as in totally AU. I'll be posting chapters as I finish editing them (read: every time I have homework for Chinese Lit). It was co-written by myself and Thesilentquill. Co-writing is very, very fun.

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Mark Cohen looked at the clock on his office wall for the fiftieth time that afternoon.

His office hours were dragging by. The flu season was upon them and every case of the sniffles sent patients streaming into his office for a cure to what they were certain was a deadly disease. Coupled with the geriatrics with digestive troubles, he was ready to scream.

Roger had been waiting outside the office for some time. He had stopped biting his nails when two of them bled. If he could have, he would have paced, but he'd done the fuck out of his arm and Roger liked to count on his fingers while he paced. He knew what the doctor would think, looking at him. He'd see a boy covered in bruises and scars and think he understood anything, make assumptions... how he hated doctors!

Roger took a deep breath to calm himself of the fervor. There was no need to approach defensive, it would help nothing. He knocked on the door with the arm that was still working. It had been three days, and the left wasn't healing. Only this had driven him to the doctor.

Mark sighed. He didn't want to answer that knock. Why had he gone into private practice? Sure the money was fairly good, but he didn't really feel like he was helping anyone. When he entered medical school, he had dreams of bringing people back from the brink of death or saving lives by inventing a cure for some dreaded disease. Instead, he had to deal with the aftermath of Mrs. Smith's home remedies for hemorrhoids. He wished he could genuinely make a difference.

To his surprise, the person on the other side of the door wasn't a sniffling child or complaining old lady. It was a young man, just a boy really. Even with all his medical training, the first thing Mark noticed wasn't the awkward way he was cradling his arm or the numerous bruises on his face. It was his eyes. They were piercing and green and looked like they could peer to the depths of Mark's soul.

Roger waited a moment. He tried not to notice what the doctor looked like-- not how tired he looked, nor the fact that he was probably twice Roger's age anyway, but that he was attractive. He was a sort of pale that made him seem young and old at once, pale even in his eyes and lips. Roger watched him for a moment, his stomach churning with the knowledge that he found this man extremely attractive and he was all but fantasizing about being held by him, after.

"A-are you Dr. Cohen?" Roger asked. "I had an appointment..."

"Yes, I am Dr. Cohen. I apologize I don't have your file ready. What's your name and have you been here before?"

"No, it's my first appointment. Roger Davis." Roger waited, wanting to step into the office and privacy, but he had never seen a privately practicing doctor before. Maybe this was normal? Far be it from him to question. Dr. Cohen knew what he was about.

"We'll just have to start a file for you." Mark shuffled some papers around on the receptionist's desk and frowned. "I can't find the blank forms. I'll jot down your information as I examine you and I'll start the file later. Follow me, please."

Roger followed. He liked this doctor, he decided, despite the discomfort of being very attracted to him. He was professional, matter-of-fact, and Roger liked that. This man was in control.

Mark watched as Roger climbed onto the examination table. He moved gingerly, but there was more to his movement than just the physical pain of his injuries. There was a heaviness to the way he moved, as if something were dragging him down. Mark's heart ached for him. He wanted to heal him physically, but also protect him from the cruel world.

"Now, how did you hurt your arm?"

"I slipped on the stairs." Roger unbuttoned his coat clumsily. He gritted his teeth: as soon as his right arm came out of his coat, the weight of the wool shifted to the injured left arm. He eased it off. Under his T-shirt was a set of bruises ringing his arm which anyone could see came from a hand holding too tight for too long. Roger hoped the doctor would ignore that. After all, his left arm was sort of just dangling there.

Mark carefully took the damaged limb in his arms and started to feel along the bones to see if there was anything out of place. He let his fingers linger a little longer than was absolutely necessary, but tried to cover it with his explanation.

"I don't think it's broken, but I'll need an x-ray to be sure. There's some obvious damage to your tendons. A fracture would complicate healing those."

Roger kept still as possible, listening to the explanation, nodding. He would do what the doctor said, he knew that much. Tears rolled down his cheeks. It hurt when the doctor touched him, but only because his arm hurt so much, because it'd been done so wrong. He swallowed and forced his tears back for a moment. "You can... fix it?" he asked.

Mark fumbled around for his handkerchief and handed it to the young man. "I'm not going to lie to you. This is a serious injury. The only reason that I'm even attempting to treat it myself is because I interned as an orthopedist before deciding to go into private practice. You may need surgery to get full use back, but I'll do my best before we explore that option."

Roger touched the handkerchief to his eyes, but that didn't stop them welling. "Wouldn't surgery mean staying in the hospital? Could you do a... a cast, maybe?" he asked. "It's been okay, I can do without it a few days."

"It's not okay. You can barely move that arm. Yes, generally surgery does require some time in the hospital. It really depends on the damage that was done. You're lucky, my office shares an x-ray machine with some of the other doctors in the clinic. Let me call down to see if they can take you. In the mean time, I found a copy of that form. Are you able to fill it out?"

"I... yes, I can fill it out," Roger said. He wanted to argue, say that his arm would be fine, he'd rest it and it would get better and that would be that, but conditioning and reason warned him to cede to the doctor. He took the pen in his right hand and began scrawling information on the page.

Just for fun, he kept a count of the times he lied.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Twenty minutes later, Mark was studying the x-rays of Roger's arm. A clear crack could be seen on the film. Mark furrowed his brow. The break pattern could not have possibly been caused by a fall down stairs. Someone had to have twisted the arm with such force that it caused the tendons to tear and the arm to snap. The bruising on Roger's arm also supported this theory.

"Roger, I'm afraid you do have a fracture. I'm also seeing some significant tearing to some of your tendons on the x-ray. Just the fact that I can even see the damage tells me it's pretty bad. We'll try letting it rest for a little while. I can't do too much while the bone is knitting anyway. You say this happened when you fell down the stairs?"

Roger nodded. He felt ill at the news. A fracture... He didn't have the time to rest a while. Well, he would just do his best, and... he could manage with one arm. He would be fine. After all, the last three days had been okay, and he had not used his arm. "Yeah. I-I tripped."

"Roger, tell me the truth. I've seen this kind of break before. That pattern isn't possible from a fall. The only way they happen is if someone else twists your arm. Is someone hurting you?"

"No." Roger saw the likelihood of this being answered. After all, he was sitting half-naked and comfortable with this (incredibly attractive) man touching him, the intimacy established a trusting atmosphere. Still. It wasn't a question that applied to Roger, not by his thinking.

"How did it happen, then?"

"I told you," Roger said softly, "I fell down on the stairs at the library." He couldn't deal with this. His arm was killing him, not to mention other bits of him--luckily the majority of the minor injuries were on his legs and rear, and the doctor hadn't seen there or he would probably have a fit. But it hurt badly, and Roger was not in the mood for an interrogation. He started to clumsily pull on his shirt.

"Fuck!" He'd been too hasty and jarred his arm. He continued yanking. He needed to go.

Mark could tell he'd gone too far. The last thing he wanted to do was drive Roger away while he was still in pain. He decided to let it go for the moment. It was more important that Roger get treatment or he could damage that arm further.

"Roger, let me put that in a cast before you go. You'll do more damage to the arm without one."

"It'll get better," he muttered. He had one arm in a sleeve and was now groping blindly for the other. "I'll just, I'll leave it, I'll be fine. Thank you for your time but I really do need to get going."

"It won't," Mark replied. "A break like that won't just heal itself. Roger… if you want full use of that arm, let me put a cast on it. No more questions, I promise." There were many questions he wanted to ask, but healing that arm was his top priority.

Roger paused. He thought for a moment. No more arm… no more sports, a lifetime of slow clumsiness, and most important of all no more music. He let his shirt slide off. "Just make it work," he whispered. He sat, utterly defeated, staunchly refusing to raise his eyes. The fact that the doctor obviously knew more than he did about medicine did not help the matter.

Mark gathered supplies and arranged them in the order he'd need them. He gently took the injured limb into his hands and ran his fingers along the place where the X-ray revealed the break to be. "This may hurt a bit." He had to set the bone properly, and that required forcing the bones into place and making sure that the joints were lined up properly.

Roger nodded. "I know," he murmured. Mark's fingers felt good on his skin-- not good enough to move him from his determined self-hatred, but enough. He waited for the pain.

Mark took a deep breath. He didn't want to cause any more pain. Roger had obviously experienced enough to last him a lifetime. He quietly counted to three and set the arm as smoothly as he possibly could. He let his hand linger a moment longer than necessary. Roger's skin was very smooth and he enjoyed touching it much more than he should have, professionally. It had been too long since he'd last touched another man.

Roger's body jerked once when the bone was set, at the sound and at the feeling of the sound. He gasped, careful not to pull his arm out of Mark's grasp. He didn't want the doctor to stop touching him. He tried to focus on something other than the pain, even the hair swinging in front of his eyes, anything. Roger tried to remember his last haircut. It had been at least two years ago...

"Thank you," he said softly.

Mark continued to caress Roger's soft skin as he gently pulled on the stocking that would form the base of the cast. He trimmed it back and wrapped the arm in cotton and plaster.

"You're going to have to come back in a couple of weeks for more X rays. In the mean time, you can take Ibuprofen for the pain and swelling. I don't normally do this, but let me give you my home number, if you have any questions or it bothers you."

"Thank you," Roger whispered. He didn't know what to say, or precisely how to explain what it felt like to know he would be completely, or almost completely, useless until his cast came off. "When will the cast come off?" he asked. He still hadn't looked at Mark, but felt cold without his touch.

"The cast will be on for at least six weeks, but I need to see you back in two weeks to make sure that it's healing properly and to see if any of the damage to the tendons has healed. I won't make any promises. You still may need surgery."

He nodded. "All right." Roger picked up his jacket and realized he wasn't going to be able to dress himself. He clutched the jacket close. "Should I schedule an appointment?"

Mark nodded. "I'll take care of that for you when we get to the other room. Do you need a hand?" He motioned at the jacket. "When I broke my arm when I was fifteen, I had to live in button-down short sleeved shirts that my mom bought for me. I hated it, but it was so much easier to get dressed with them."

Roger nodded. He knew the doctor was trying to establish a bond and he appreciated that, he truly did. But that didn't mean he was open to a bond with this kind man who he would give anything to caress. Roger liked him too much, and he knew it. "Thanks."

Mark gathered up Roger's shirt and eased it over his arm and head. He let his hand stay on Roger's back for a few seconds. With a start, he realized exactly how attracted he was to this man. He wished he could bring him back to his place and protect him from the world. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold him forever, for a moment...

Roger enjoyed the contact. It spread a sort of calm warmth through his body, making him feel good. He liked how it felt when Mark eased his shirt on. The attraction disturbed him, and even more the fact that he didn't shy away from it. No, he stayed right where he was, not moving away from Mark's gentle hand but relaxing against it.

Mark noticed that Roger was relishing his touch, so he made his movements more deliberate. He knew it was wrong to fall for a patient, especially such young patient, but he couldn't help but feel he wanted to find out everything about this young man. It had been entirely too long since his last relationship.

After a few more moments of touching, Roger knew he had to stop. He leapt up, smashing his cast on the table. It hurt like a bitch, and brought him back to his senses. "W-we had better make that next appointment," he said hurriedly. What had he been thinking!?

Mark was startled when Roger pulled away but realized he had almost let things go too far. He was a professional, so he should act like one. He cleared his throat. "You're right. Is there a time you prefer?"

Roger shook his head. "Any time."

"I'll schedule you for the end of the day, then. 4:30 in two weeks. In the mean time, keep it elevated at night, try not to use it, and if you need it, use this sling. Also if you find that the cast feels tight or your fingers feel numb, make sure you call me. In rare cases, the limb swells and the cast cuts off the circulation."

Roger nodded. "I'll look out for that," he murmured. "Is there anything more?" he asked as politely as he could, already sidling towards the door.

"If you need anything, and I mean anything, be sure to call. And try to avoid libraries for a couple of weeks, okay?"

Roger nodded. "Yes. Thank you. I'll be careful. Goodbye."

Mark walked Roger to the door and watched him walk away. He felt conflicted. Any other time he saw similar marks on a patient, especially a young one, he'd notify social services. That was the right thing to do. But in Roger's case, he was under the impression that telling someone would be the worst thing he could do. He decided to think about the situation for a while.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger headed into the doctor's office. He had one long-sleeved shirt with the left sleeve cut off for his cast. It was convenient, but he regretted one thing—he would not need to take his shirt off for the doctor to see his arm. And Roger wanted to take his shirt off. He decided he was probably a slut for even thinking such a thing, but the desire nagged at him.

His feelings mingled, the concern at his attraction to the doctor mixing with, heck, the attraction! And worry, but that he was accustomed to. "How have you been?" he asked, drinking in the sight of those beautiful eyes.

Mark felt a mixture of concern and relief when Roger entered the office. Mark had been worried that Roger wouldn't return to his office, seeking a different doctor instead. Over the past two weeks had contemplated calling the authorities about him but never got around to picking up the phone. He was relieved that Roger had returned, but couldn't help but notice that he was still in a considerable amount of pain. He was moving even more gingerly than before.

Roger held out his arm. "You... you have to do X-rays, right?" he asked gently. He knew he had been a jerk the last time. This time he promised himself to do better, to begin with, by demonstrating that he had been paying attention.

"Yes, that's right." Mark led Roger down to the X-ray machine and within minutes he was back in the office peering over the films. "Good news, Mr. Davis. The bones are healing well so we don't have to rebreak the arm."

Roger sighed in relief. He hadn't known about the rebreaking, and was suddenly very glad it wouldn't be happening. "So everything's going well," he surmised. He smiled. "That's great."

Mark returned the smile. "How is the pain? Have you had any shooting pains or numbness?"

Roger shook his head. "No. It's only a bit, and it's dull." Except, of course, for when Roger did something stupid. He had taken to slamming his cast on tables or counters when he was angry with himself. "So at this rate, four more weeks?"

Mark looked at the X-ray again. "Four more weeks in the cast, but I doubt you'll be completely healed by then. I'm still not sure about the damage to those tendons. They don't show well on X-rays. Since you're not able to move them in the cast, they won't hurt now, but I'd expect you to feel some pain once the cast comes off."

Roger nodded, settling the information in his mind. Four more weeks in the cast, then an immeasurable length of pain. He reached into his pocket and found the check, signed and made out with everything but the amount of money. "How much...?" he asked. He set the check on the table and his shirt slid off his shoulder and down to his elbow, exposing a series of gauze patches. Roger quickly, clumsily pulled his shirt back up, hoping Mark would just ignore that. He glanced at the doctor, his heart racing, trying to measure his reaction.

Mark's gaze immediately fell to Roger's arm. The gauze confirmed his suspicion that there was more to this young man than meets the eye. What was going on? Was Roger hurting himself? Was someone else hurting him? In spite of his suspicions, Mark still hadn't called anyone about Roger's injuries. Somehow, in his mind, that would constitute a betrayal. "What happened to your arm?" Mark asked.

"Nothing," was the first answer, the necessary answer. Roger continued, "I just, you know, accident." Usually he could think up a convincing other explanation, but for these injuries there simply was not one. He resorted to vague non-sentences.

"An accident?" Mark repeated. "I'd like to take a look. Any infection can lead to complications." From Roger's last visit, he knew not to ask too many questions or else he'd run away.

Roger chuckled nervously. "I'm sure that's not necessary. I cleaned it myself," he assured Mark.

"I insist on it. No charge," grinned Mark.

Recognizing that he had no way out of this, Roger sat and slipped off his shirt. A gauze strip wrapped his upper arm, and there were patches near his elbow and shoulder. There was one wrapping his wrist, too, this one covering a burn. The others were clean cuts.

Roger looked away, ceding his body to Mark's ministrations.

Mark gently took off the patches and then unwound the rest of the bandages. Most of the cuts were healing well. They weren't too deep and had formed scabs. One of them had a little redness around it, but a little antiseptic cream would take care of that. The burn was another story. It was second-degree at least and had some ugly, weeping blisters covering the skin.

"You did a good job with the cuts. Most of them can be left open now to let them breathe. That one, there, near your elbow should still be covered. I'll put this cream on it and give you the tube to treat it. Your burn is pretty serious though. The blisters popped and are now susceptible to infection. With all the healing your body has to do, it doesn't need to fight something else on top of it."

Roger nodded, surprisingly pleased at the doctor's praise. "What can I do for the burn?" he asked. He hated that one, hated the horrible color it had turned and hated the pain of it. Still, he was going to make sure it was okay. The doctor would tell him what to do and he'd take care of it. Everything would be fine.

Roger sighed in relief. The doctor had seen everything and wasn't going to ruin his life. He actually seemed like a good guy.

"Bathe it once a day in cool, clean water. Treat it with aloe and then put a new wrap on it every day. I have some bottled aloe here, but it's almost better if you can get it fresh from the plant. You probably should come back in here next week so I can check on this, too."

Mark took the aloe and rubbed it slowly into Roger's skin, being careful not to hurt him. He wrapped clean gauze around the burn and fastened it with tape. As he did this, Mark let his fingers roam from the wound and touch the skin surrounding it. Roger's arm was smooth and warm and Mark let his fingers linger. He wished he could touch more of Roger's body.

The feeling was mutual. Roger almost wished he had injuries on the rest of his body, just because that would mean Mark's hands on him. He realized just how dangerous that thinking was, because there were plenty of ways for Roger to get more injuries, and they did hurt when Mark's hands were gone.

Roger nodded. "I'll take care of it," he promised. "It'll be fine, right? In a month it'll just be another neat scar story I can tell."

Mark smiled. "Sure." All right, probably not, but at the moment Roger seemed to be looking more for reassurance than answers. "And you'll call me if it starts to hurt?"

Roger recited Mark's phone number, reminding him that he'd given his home number.

"That's right. Call any time if you need me or if you just have questions. If you're not sure, it's better for you to call."

"Okay. Thanks." He handed him the check, then headed for the door. He stopped about two feet away. "Look, doctor, if... hypothetically," he said. "Hypothetically, let's say, you were right. If you were right. Then what would happen?"

"Hypothetically, first there'd be an investigation into your living situation. If the person who is hurting you can be removed, they may do that or they may move you into a group home or foster care. Then the police will do an investigation and the courts will be involved. They'll make sure that they protect you. I'd have to testify about the injuries you received. People would protect you."

Roger nodded. It was a lot to take in. "It... it sounds like a great system," he said. "Very good for... people... in those situations," he added. "Well. Thank you," he said, and offered his good hand.

"You're welcome. Be sure to call if you need anything, and I mean anything at all." said Mark.

"I will. Thanks-- thank you-- really."

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

A few days later, Mark found himself tossing and turning in his bed. He'd had an average day filled with seeing patients, doing paperwork, then had his weekly dinner with his parents. His father wanted him to talk about his lucrative practice the entire time and his mother kept mentioning eligible women from their temple. She never really accepted the fact that he was gay, thinking it was just a phase or something.

Roger had been repeating the number in his head over and over for the last few days, remembering what the doctor told him, reliving their conversation. He whimpered softly as he crept into the living room. It wasn't that he had any specific injuries... things just... he hurt all over. Especially the burn. He pulled the telephone off the table and sat on the floor cross-legged around it. He breathed deeply, picked up the phone and as fast as he could dialed the number he had imprinted in his mind.

The phone startled Mark and he inadvertently knocked the cordless phone to the ground after the first ring. It took him another ring to find it and then one more to find the Talk button. Luckily, he pressed the button before the answering machine picked up. "Hello?" he asked groggily.

Roger gave a startled gasp: he had actually answered! He gasped and collected himself. "D... Dr. Cohen?" he asked softly. He glanced over his shoulder: nobody.

"Yes, this is he," said Mark. He didn't quite recognize the voice. It was obviously male and young. It wasn't one of his nephews, since they would have called him Uncle Mark. He hadn't spoken to his ex in six months and that jerk wouldn't have used his title. His brain searched his memory: who could possibly be calling him? After a few seconds he realized it was the young man from the doctor's office. "Roger? Is that you?"

Roger nodded automatically, then realized Mark couldn't see him. "Yeah," he said. He sniffled and wiped his face on his T-shirt. "I-is it too late? I'm sorry. I..."

"It's fine. I wasn't quite asleep and I did say you could call me any time." All of a sudden Marked realized what that sniffling sound on the other end of the line meant. "Roger, are you okay? Do you need help?"

"Yes... no... I don't know," Roger said. He covered his mouth and sobbed into his shirt. then wiped the spit off his lips. "The aloe isn't helping anymore."

Mark's heart wrenched. He could hear Roger crying and just wanted to reach through the phone line and wrap his arms around him in a comforting hug. He had to settle for using words instead. "It'll be alright, Roger," he said. "Do you need me to come and get you?"

The thought terrified Roger. As much as he wanted to beg the doctor to please, please come get him right now, he couldn't. He shook his head. "No, no, you can't do that, you can't do that, you c--" Roger stopped and listened. He'd heard a door creak above him and now heard footsteps. "Oh shit..." he whimpered. "I have to go," he told Mark quickly. "I'm sorry. I have to go." And he hung up.

Mark stared at the phone. What had happened? Why had Roger hung up? He had sounded so frightened. Mark shivered a bit and then dialed 69 on his phone. At the very least, he could get the number that Roger was calling from. He was tempted to run to the office and grab Roger's file to get his address but something inside him told him not to.

Roger nearly vomited when he heard the telephone ring. He knew this could not go well, and he couldn't get to the phone to yank it off its hook. He curled up tighter around himself.

"Hello?"

Roger moaned. There was no way it was anyone but Mark, he knew.

Mark wasn't sure what to make of the voice at the other end of the line. It definitely didn't belong to Roger. Mark was tempted to just ask to speak to Roger, but he wasn't sure that was a good idea. Something about the way that Roger spoke so softly and the panic in his voice at the end of the call made Mark realize he was trying to keep it a secret. Mark had to think fast. "Hello. This is Dr. Mark Cohen speaking. I was just on the phone trying to reach Dr. Joshua Rogers when I got disconnected. Is this his number?" Mark prayed that the other man wouldn't recognize Roger's middle name.

"Roger's not a doctor. He's a high-school dropout who wouldn't've made it to his senior year, anyway." Roger moaned, more because he'd been kicked than at the words. "What is it you want to tell him? I'll deliver the message."

Mark groaned. So much for his clever ruse. "Just tell him I'll see him at the office for his appointment tomorrow."

"He doesn't have an appointment tomorrow. I'm well aware of your reputation, Dr. Cohen... but you're through treating Roger. I'm sorry he bothered you. He'll apologize. Wait."

When the phone was place at his ear, Roger wondered what Mark must be hearing. It must sound like rain to him. Maybe loud enough rain so he couldn't hear Roger crying or the instruction to apologize. "I'm sorry I bothered you," Roger said. "I'm very sorry."

Mark could hear the fear in Roger's voice. He wanted to do something for him, but wasn't sure what he could do. "It's alright, Roger. You're not a bother."

"Thank you," he whimpered. "You're a really good doctor."

"There, satisfied? Now he won't bother you again and you can leave us alone."

"I'm sorry for disturbing you tonight." said Mark. He really had no idea what to do now. Obviously there was something wrong with Roger's situation. He hoped he hadn't made things worse with his phone call. Mark lay back in bed and tried to sleep.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger glanced at a house number. He was getting closer--this was Mark's block. Although whether Mark still wanted to help him after the phone call was another story. Roger didn't care. He was desperate. Things had gotten worse and worse after that call, two weeks ago, and if Mark even remembered him he might not want to help.

But still... he couldn't care. He was desperate. Roger had been on the streets for the past hour, and it was now well after midnight. He hadn't had anything on when he left the house. He had a newspaper kilted around his waist, and probably looked completely insane, especially since the rain was making his newspaper fall apart.

When he finally found Mark's place, Roger nearly cried in relief. He hurried up the steps and rang the doorbell.

Mark was tossing and turning in his bed once again. Ever since that phone call two weeks ago, he couldn't stop thinking about Roger. Was he alright? Was his burn healing properly?

Mark didn't like the sound of the man who spoke to him. He vaguely reminded him of a bad relationship he had just after college, around the time he came out to his parents. That man was just creepy. He pressured Mark sexually and constantly put him down. Mark was lucky: he recognized the man for what he was and was able to break things off before they escalated to abuse. He knew Roger wasn't so lucky.

He looked at the clock, then at the wall, the ceiling, the door and then the clock again. Sleep would not come. He listened to the rain, the hum of the fridge and the soft tick from the clock in the living room. All of the sounds were familiar. Then came a sound that he didn't usually hear: the chime of his doorbell. He quickly donned a bathrobe and went to open the door.

"Roger?"

Mark was shocked to see the young man but recovered quickly when he realized that Roger was barely wearing anything at all. He reached out and laid his arm around Roger's shoulders to guide him into the house.

Roger stepped inside. He wondered if Mark would be angry that he wasn't wearing his cast anymore--but then, it had been almost six weeks before it was cut off him. He stood on the mat, dripping wet and trembling. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry to barge in on you, I didn't know where else to go..."

"It's fine. I'm glad you found me. I told you before you could come to me for anything." Mark noticed how much Roger was shaking. He knew it wasn't just from the cold. "Come on, let's see if I can find something that will fit you. You must be freezing."

"Thank you." Roger hugged himself tightly. He'd lost weight since the last time Mark saw him, and he didn't need to hear that he had gotten too skinny. "It's really cold out," he explained almost apologetically.

Mark led Roger to the bathroom and gave him a towel, then dug in his drawers for a pair of boxers, a set of sweats, and a pair of thick woolen socks. "Here, try these on. I'll make a pot of tea. Nothing like it to warm you up on a cold night."

Roger nodded. "Thank you," he repeated. He went into the bathroom and toweled himself as dry as possible, wadded up the newspapers in the waste bin, then pulled on Mark's clothes. He tightened the string on the sweatpants. They still slipped a bit, but they would stay on.

Once he was dressed, he found his way to the kitchen. "Thank you for taking me in like this."

Mark poured the mixture of peppermint leaves and chamomile into the metal diffuser then added the boiling water to the teapot. Mark knew the blend would help Roger to relax and warm him up at the same time. "You're always welcome here. I take it you'll be staying for a while."

"If that's okay," Roger said. He didn't want to impose. He had to impose, but he didn't want to impose any more than he absolutely had to. "I'm sorry I missed the last appointment."

"It's fine. I have plenty of room here." Mark poured a bit of tea into a cup and seeing that it had steeped enough, filled it to the top. He took a second cup for himself and brought the milk and sugar to the table. "I understand about the appointment. How's your burn and your arm?"

Roger added milk and heaps of sugar to his tea and drank. He showed Mark the burn. "The day I called you, it got burned again," he said. "My arm... hurts, but it's working okay."

Mark examined the burn a little more closely. He could already see some scar tissue forming on the wrist. "I'll put some medicated cream on it tonight and wrap it for you. Tomorrow you should come to the clinic for another X-ray so I can see if the bones are healed. It's a good sign that the arm is working okay."

Roger shook his head. "No-- please. I'm sure it'll heal fine, it barely hurts," he lied. It hurt like a bitch--but he could deal with pain. He drank more tea and added more sugar. He'd never been very good at drinking tea.

"I'm bringing you in tomorrow. You're in a lot of pain for someone whose arm barely hurts. Don't worry about payment. We can work something out."

"No, I can't. Please. Please don't do this." It wasn't the payment that was worrying Roger, and he would never in a thousand years admit to the pain-- but he sure wasn't about to deny it. Still, he would not go to the office with Mark.

Mark decided to let it go for a few days. It was obvious that Roger had a traumatic experience and he didn't want to disturb him further. "I'll let it go for a bit, but I'll bring home a soft splint for you. When did you get your cast off?"

"He-- I took it off a few days ago," Roger said.

"It may have needed to stay on longer, especially if you were recovering from other injuries. The soft splint should help, but if it gets worse, you'll have to come in for an x-ray." Mark sipped his tea and watched Roger for a while. He wasn't shaking as much, but still had a haunted look about him. He wondered what had transpired in the past weeks. He didn't know how to broach that subject with Roger, so he decided on focusing on something different. "Do you want anything to eat?"

Roger nodded his head. "Yes, please!" he gasped. It had been a while since he had actually eaten, long enough for his stomach to stop growling and only hurt mildly, like pressure.

Mark opened the fridge and pulled out the bread, some leftover pot roast, lettuce, butter and mustard. "Pot roast sandwiches okay with you?"

"Yes-- yes, that sounds great. Thank you." Roger tried to take his eyes off the food-- and saying that he couldn't focus on anything but food was quite something, since he still felt attraction to Mark.

Mark went about making sandwiches. Judging by the way Roger was staring at the roast, he probably hadn't eaten in a while. He made four sandwiches and placed three before Roger. When he returned the ingredients to the fridge, he took out the milk and poured Roger a tall glass. He probably could use the calcium.

"When was the last time you ate, Roger?"

Roger shoved half a sandwich in his mouth and chewed it a few times before swallowing with a sip of milk. "Not sure," he said, attacking the sandwich once more. "I don't know. A few days. Maybe five days."

Five days? No wonder Roger was wolfing down his food. "Be careful, then. If you eat too fast your body may not know how to react and you'll get sick."

Roger couldn't stop, though. He'd been kept hungry before, but never for so long, and he was starving. He drank some of the milk, knowing it would help his bones heal. "Thank you for the food," he said.

"Do you need anything else?" Mark asked. He inched his way toward Roger and laid a hand on his shoulders.

Roger flinched at first, but when he realized Mark wasn't going to hurt him he relaxed. It was actually a quite pleasant touch. He shook his head: "No... thank you. But however I can make this up to you, just tell me, it's done."

Mark felt Roger stiffen and then relax and started lightly massaging his shoulders. He liked doing things for Roger. "There's no need. It's just a few sandwiches. I'm glad I can help out."

Roger sighed happily. Nobody had touched him like that in a long time, and it felt fantastic, even fantastic enough for him to stop eating. "Can I stay here a while?" he asked softly. "Just until I find someplace?"

Mark deepened the massage. "Of course you can stay here as long as you need to." Mark kneaded Roger's muscles and thought about how nice it was to touch someone else without it being for a medical reason. Roger had this vulnerability about him that made Mark just want to hold him and protect him forever. Just the simple act of massaging was more contact than Mark had had in a very long time.

Roger moaned softly. He had, he reminded himself, been touched gently in the past, but it had never felt so... so protective. "And I know you mean it well about the X-rays, I know that. I'm sorry. I just... can't."

Mark knew there was a lot more going on than just insurance problems but didn't think it was the time to discuss them. "I think I understand. We'll talk about it again, though. I don't want you suffering needlessly. For now we'll just be careful with your arm. I want you to promise me that you'll let me know if you're hurting."

Roger nodded. "I promise," he said. He went back to eating, definitely not about to say no to food at this point. "I'm sorry I woke you in the middle of the night. But then if it wasn't the middle of the night, you wouldn't've been sleeping," he joked. Immediately he tensed, hoping he had rightly judged Mark as someone who would find this amusing.

Mark laughed gently. "Oh, a few years ago I may have been working in a hospital in the middle of the night, but ever since I went into private practice, my sleeping has been done exclusively in the middle of the night." Mark was glad that Roger was feeling relaxed enough to make jokes. "So, what brings you to my neighborhood?" he asked lightly in the hopes of getting more information.

"I came to find you. You're listed in the phone book and I had your number, so..." Roger let the statement follow to its logical conclusion. He had found Mark. He didn't have anywhere else to go.

"I'm glad you came." In an impulsive move, he wrapped his arms around Roger and pulled him into a hug.

Roger grabbed Mark and held him, surprised at his own impulsiveness. He sniffed, determined not to cry. "Are you this good to every vagrant you encounter?" he asked

"Probably not, but then I don't encounter many vagrants in private practice." He held Roger closer and then whispered in his ear, "You're safe now."

Roger trembled, afraid he was going to start crying. "Thank you."

Mark released Roger and let out a yawn. "I guess we should go to sleep soon. I'll put some towels and clothes for you in the bathroom and you can take the guest room while you're here."

"Thank you," Roger said again. He stood, took his dishes to the sink and washed them, already building himself an idea of how he'd be useful. Sure, Mark didn't think Roger needed to repay him, but that wouldn't stop Roger cleaning the house and anything else useful he could think of.

Mark waited for Roger and then guided him to the guest room. It was simply but elegantly furnished with antiques that he had lovingly restored himself. The linens were clean and white. "Make yourself at home. If there's anything else you need, just let me know."

"It's... it's really beautiful," Roger said. "Thank you." He went and sat on the bed, then smiled at Mark. It was a tight smile, difficult to manage, but honest.

Roger's smile warmed Mark's heart. He longed to take him and hold him close, to cover him with kisses and never let him go. Instead, he smiled back and said goodnight. Roger had been through a lot. He needed his space.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

When five-thirty rolled around, Roger started glancing at the door. He'd done the logical thing that day: cleaned. He had cleaned the tables and shelves in the house, all flat surfaces. Dusted. He had done the laundry, made the bed, and was now waiting for Mark to come home. Roger's main concern--he had proved himself useful and knew he could stay another day--was burning dinner, at that point.

Mark shuffled his feet as he trudged up to the doorstep of his house. It had been a long, difficult day. His secretary had called in sick again so he was left to wade through the files of numerous patients, all seemingly suffering from paranoia and loneliness. Much as he liked being a doctor, he had days where he wondered why he bothered because all he seemed to be doing lately was listen to little old ladies complain about their rheumatism.

When he opened the door the aroma of a home cooked meal welcomed him and the house gleamed. Immediately his mood improved. He had helped Roger. "Whoa! What smells so good in here?" he asked.

Roger grinned. He was still wearing the clothes Mark had given him the previous evening, since he had no others. "Hey," he said. "I made dinner. I hope that's okay..." It seemed to be--Mark seemed pretty happy about the good smell.

"Of course that's okay. I usually come home and order take out that's half cold by the time it arrives. It's a treat for me to have a home-cooked meal, and usually it involves answering awkward questions from my mother." His voice switched to a whining falsetto. "When are you going to settle down, Marky? Why can't you find a nice Jewish girl and start a family? When can I expect grandchildren, Marky?" He rolled his eyes. "Sorry. I guess I have some Mommy issues to work out. The house looks amazing! I can't believe you found the time to do all that and cook too."

"It was my pleasure. Come and sit down, dinner's ready to eat." He had set the table for both of them and hoped that was acceptable to Mark. He took the plates and spooned rice onto each, smoothed the rice down in the center and added little pools of curry to the center of the rice. It was Chinese curry, since Mark hadn't any coconut milk in the house, but still--Roger reckoned--pretty tasty. He set down the plates. "Is this okay? I can eat somewhere else if..."

"Of course it's alright. I haven't had pleasant company for dinner in a long time. Plus you cooked, you should get to enjoy it."

Roger sat and picked up a fork. He hadn't eaten anything all day, unsure of the rules in Mark's house.

Mark started eating and nearly moaned with pleasure. "You're a terrific cook. This is the best curry I've tasted in outside of Asia. Where did you learn to cook like this?"

He smiled. "I took a lot of classes. My parents..." Roger paused. His smile faltered. He hadn't thought about his parents in a long time, since not thinking about them was less painful than considering what they would think of his situation. He shook his head and forced the smile back. "They both worked a lot, so I learned how to cook and... well..." He took a bite, pleased with himself. He'd done a good job of this.

Mark noticed Roger's discomfort when he mentioned his parents. It was another thing to add to the list to ask about later. For now he'd enjoy his excellent food and even better company. He looked over at Roger and smiled back. "You have a talent for cooking. I took a couple of classes at the community center, but nearly burned down the building. The smoke detector goes off if I make toast."

Roger blushed. "Thank you," he said. No one had complimented his cooking in a while. "You know, if you just... if you make a list of the foods you like I can make them, probably."

"I'll do that. You'll just have to let me know what you need to cook them. And also what you like as well. I'm pretty much open to trying anything. What's your favorite food?"

That one made Roger pause. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "I like pizza a lot," he had to say, despite its complete lack of finesse. "I like everything, really."

Mark smiled. "I know the feeling. We'll just have to experiment a little." Mark watched Roger for a few minutes and then realized he was still wearing the sweats he had given him the night before. In his hurry in the morning, he had forgotten to bring Roger new clothes. "Oh dear, I just realized I forgot to give you some more clothes this morning. I've got a couple more pairs of sweats, but you'll need more than that. Is it at all possible for you to get your things or do you just want me to take you shopping?"

Roger quickly shook his head. "No-- I mean-- you don't need to do that, really but I'm afraid there's no way..." The only way to get his things back would be to return, and he had no intention of doing that.

"Roger," Mark interrupted gently, "you need clothes. You can't spend the rest of your life in my sweats. We'll go shopping this weekend," he decided. Though his voice was gentle, his tone kept Roger from protesting further.

"Thanks," Roger said. Mark had done so much for him--making a few dinners wasn't going to even them out on that. He ate quietly, wondering just what would happen if he did go to get his things back. He doubted he'd return to Mark's place, no matter how badly he wanted to. After a while he said, "I'll tell you, you know. Whatever you want. Preferably after dinner but I will tell you." He owed him that much at least.

Mark smiled. At least Roger trusted him that much. "I appreciate that, Roger, but it isn't necessary." He didn't want to push Roger. If he ran away now, who knew where he would land? Striving for normal conversation, Mark asked, "How was your day?"

"Good. I got a lot done," Roger told him, by which meant Mark's house was approaching spotless. "How was yours?"

"The same as usual. I must have seen ten little old ladies who just wanted someone besides their cat to talk to. Then I saw five children whose parents were convinced they had pneumonia but it was really the common cold. Yes. A typical day. When do I get to save lives again?"

"You saved my life," Roger whispered. He knew that wasn't what Mark meant. He wanted glory, excitement, not a teenage boy who just needed a place to lay his head... but if Roger wasn't here, he would probably be dead.

Mark could barely make out Roger's words, but all of a sudden, he felt a shiver. He realized just how true Roger's words were. A million questions came into his head, but it wasn't time to ask them.

Roger put down his fork. "Are you through eating?" he asked. "I'll wash everything up..."

Mark nodded. "Let me give you a hand. You wash, I'll dry."

"Thank you." Roger began washing plates. When the plates and forks were clean, he poured the leftover curry into Tupperwares and placed them in the refrigerator. The rice he left out.

Mark enjoyed watching the way Roger moved while washing the dishes. He had a certain grace about him. He tried timing his reach so they would brush hands when he reached into the sink to grab the wet plates but it didn't happen often enough for his liking. He hoped that Roger could have a little fun and relax. Once the dishes were done, he gave into impulse and playfully snapped the tea towel at the younger man beside him.

Roger squealed and laughed. "Dr. Cohen!" he yelped, smiling. He rubbed his leg where the towel had snapped him. He didn't know how to snap tea towels, but he did wet his fingers and flick water at Mark.

Mark's heart leapt when he heard Roger's laughter. He wet his own fingers and started to splash Roger back. He hadn't had a good water fight in years.

Roger ducked away from the water. "Don't make me short-sheet your bed!" he teased.

"Oh you better not! I still have to pay you back for calling me Doctor Cohen. In my house, I'm Mark and don't you forget it!" Mark took a handful of water and splashed it right into Roger's face.

Roger cringed away, not daring to wipe the water off his face. Conditioning kept his hands at his sides. He knew he was going to mess up! He knew it would happen sooner or later, but that he had done it so soon... and he hadn't known to call him Mark. "I'm sorry, Mark," he whispered.

Mark stopped at Roger's sudden change in demeanor. He had meant the comment as a joke, not a criticism. What was going on here? Why wasn't he wiping off his face? He tried to diffuse the situation with a few soft words. "Roger, it's ok. I'm just joking. You can call me anything you want."

Roger nodded, but he didn't let his guard down for a second. He had made that mistake once and was in no hurry to repeat it. The water growing colder on his cheeks was a reminder of the consequences. He set the rice aside and wiped down the counter.

Mark tried again. "It's really alright, Roger. I didn't mean to imply you were doing anything wrong."

"I won't let it be a problem again," he promised, his voice soft.

Mark reached his arm around the younger man. "Roger, I don't know what you've been through before, but you're not a problem to me."

Roger shivered, but he couldn't pretend that Mark's arm didn't make him relax. "If you just... tell me the rules... I can follow them."

"Rules? What kind of rules?" Mark hugged Roger tighter. "Just make yourself at home."

Roger trembled and bit down hard on his lip, determined not to cry. He didn't know what to say. He had broken a rule on accident and Mark was upset. If Mark didn't tell him the rules, he'd break more and just get into more trouble. "Please..."

Mark didn't want to upset Roger any further. He obviously needed something, but Mark wasn't sure what. "I want to help, Roger, but I don't know what you need. What do you mean by rules?"

"Anything," he whispered. "What to do. What not to do. Tell me and I promise you I'll never upset you again."

"Maybe you should tell me some of the rules you had before, as an example. If I don't like them, we'll change them. And you didn't upset me, Roger. It takes a lot more than that to upset me." Mark smiled down at Roger, trying to reassure him.

Roger took a deep breath. "There were only sometimes-rules," he told Mark.

"Sometimes-rules?" Mark repeated.

Roger nodded. "For... for when things weren't so good." Roger shivered. He held himself. "If I hadn't been bad life could've been so happy," he whimpered.

Mark tried to comfort him further by rubbing his shoulders. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Roger bit his lip. He knew he had promised, but he also knew Mark would be upset by the truth. And a guest didn't upset his host. "If it's all right, can I go to bed, please?" he asked.

Mark wanted to question Roger further about his remarks, but knew that he wouldn't get anywhere until Roger was ready to talk about it. He nodded his permission, but said, "I think we have a lot to talk about tomorrow."

"Y-you could come to bed with me," he suggested softly, automatically cringing.

Mark raised his eyebrows in surprise that Roger would be so forward. "Are you sure? I don't want to put any pressure on you."

"I just don't want to be alone..."

"I understand," said Mark. Instead of following Roger to his room, he led him to the master suite. "The bed is bigger in here, and more comfortable."

"Thank you." Roger pulled off his shirt, then he paused. "I... if it's what you want... I wouldn't mind," he said.

Mark didn't know how to respond. It had been a long time since he'd last had a lover, a very long time. He longed to feel Roger's skin against his own. He placed his hand lightly on Roger's arm. "Are you ready for that? I'd love to but I want to make sure you're ready."

The question was strange to Roger. He nodded. "Any time you want," he said. He liked the contact, the touch-- he would be perfectly happy to let Mark please himself with him.

Mark turned Roger so he was facing him. "No, Roger. I want it to be about what you want." He leaned forward and kissed Roger gently.

Roger returned the kiss. It made his body sing and suddenly he felt warm all over. After, he admitted softly, "I don't want to." Then he winced. Idiot! How foolish he'd been to think Mark wanted to know his feelings. He wanted consent, that was all, and thick Roger hadn't caught on in time.

Mark wrapped his arms around Roger. "That's fine. I'm glad you were honest with me." He gave him another kiss, letting it linger to show he wasn't angry that they had stopped. Mark loved the feel of Roger's five-o'clock shadow against his own smooth skin. He wished they could kiss forever.

Roger felt his body go limp against Mark--not completely but just enough to let him feel at once like he was melting and flying. He didn't want the kiss to end, ever, nor for Mark to take his hands away. For the first time in a very long time, Roger felt happy and safe.

Mark guided Roger to the bed. He paused to remove his shirt and pants, leaving his boxers in place. He climbed on the bed and gathered Roger into his arms. "You're safe with me," he whispered.

Roger held Mark tightly. He nuzzled Mark's chest hair, a feature Roger himself had yet to develop. "Should we talk?" he asked, knowing Mark wanted to know things about Roger's life before.

Mark started rubbing Roger's back, trying to reassure him. "Yes, we should talk. I want to know what was going on. How did you really break your arm?"

Roger paused. If he told the truth, Mark might not want him to stay-- but if he didn't, Mark would definitely not want him to stay. "He kept shaking me," was what he settled on, because it was true but not incriminating.

Mark knew there was more to what Roger was saying, so he tried to get him to open up further. He kept his voice soft and calm, and continued his comforting massage of Roger's back. "Shaking you? Why did he do that?"

The answer came as though it was obvious, natural, though tinted by shame. "I was bad," he said simply.

"Bad? What did you do that was so bad that he had to shake you so much that your arm broke?" Mark tried to keep his tone even, but there was a slight edge of anger to it. Realizing the effect it may have on his skittish guest, he quickly added "I don't think you could do anything bad."

"I wasn't... totally... faithful," Roger replied. The response was labored--he didn't want to admit to this, and only did because he knew that he must.

Mark had suspected that Roger saw the world far differently from him, so he needed more information. "Oh, did he find you in bed with someone else? Even so, he doesn't have the right to hurt you."

"No... I... I never actually did anything, it's just... it made sense! I saw some... pictures, is what happened. And..." Roger blushed painfully. The last thing he wanted to do was tell this man whom he respected and wanted to love him about everything bad he had ever done. "It was just a really bad day, and on top of everything else..."

Pictures? Mark thought to himself. A broken arm over a few pictures? That wasn't being unfaithful. The kid was seventeen years old, probably more than a little curious about the world. And what did Roger mean by a really bad day? "Roger, there's nothing wrong with looking at a few pictures. It doesn't mean you're being unfaithful. At your age, it's healthy and a lot safer than satisfying your curiosity by sleeping around or something. And what do you mean about a bad day? Who was it bad for?"

"It was a bad day for him," Roger replied. "He... he'd got in trouble at work... but it wasn't really his fault, it was because his idiot boss switched the x-- the data sheets, and blamed him. And he was in a bad mood, and I was supposed to cook but dinner got messed up because I was... I was, uh, I was t-touching myself… and I was look at the pictures, and..."

"... and he took it out on you." Mark shivered. He knew people like that. He dealt with wives who were scared of their husbands at the clinic. During his internship, he had treated a young man whose boyfriend had beaten him with a two-by-four for some supposed misdeed. The patient didn't make it. He had been lucky he saw the signs in one of his exes. It could have easily been him in Roger's position. "Roger, it's not your fault. Even if you made a mistake, he shouldn't have hurt you."

"No-- it's not like that. You don't understand. You see, I... I wasn't working and... I mean he... did so much for me," Roger explained haltingly. "He gave me a roof over my head and a place to sleep and food to eat, he didn't ask that much, it's not unreasonable that I should... help out a little... how could I turn my back on all that?"

"I can understand you wanting to help out and do your fair share," Mark said soothingly. "But you know, there's a difference between a few chores and acting like a slave. What did he expect you to do for him?"

"Reasonable stuff. Keep the house clean, make dinner... there was some private stuff, but that's private. Between me and him. There was nothing wrong or unreasonable going on."

"Yeah, that sounds alright." Mark gave him another little squeeze. "You mentioned before you had rules for when things weren't going well. What were some of the rules and what happened if you broke them?"

Roger blushed. "Don't want to say," he murmured. "They were kind of... sometimes... sexual..."

The fact that those kind of rules even existed told Mark a lot about the situation. He didn't press the matter, but tried approaching it another way. "Well, you wanted to know what the rules here were. It would help me if you could give me examples. Not anything too personal though."

"Just... you know... keep things clean and don't cheat and have dinner ready, that's all. Other than. You know."

"And the consequences? Was that burn a punishment?"

Roger went cold, remembering why that had happened. His heart hammered. "I was bad," he whispered. "It... it was reasonable for him to... to... re-establish, he had to help me..."

"Oh Roger, no it wasn't. It's never reasonable for someone to hurt you, no matter what you do." Mark hugged him closer. "What was he trying to help you do?"

Roger started trembling. He hadn't meant to tell Mark any of this. He was going to be good, he was going to just help... "Be good."

"Roger, you're not bad. No one has the right to touch you if you don't want it." Mark cuddled him closely, trying to calm the young man's frayed nerves.

"What will you do if I upset you?" Roger whispered. He had to know.

"I'll talk to you and tell you why I'm upset. Maybe take away a privilege or something. I'll never hit you or do anything to hurt you." After a moment, he thought of something else. "And I'll never, ever use sex to punish you."

Roger considered all of this. It sounded very nice, much better than what he was used to. He remained subservient but that was irrelevant. "He did that, too. The privilege thing," Roger said. He needed Mark to understand something: his ex was not a bad man.

"We'll talk about the rules later, but I do have one that I can give you now," said Mark.

Roger nodded. "What is it?"

"That you tell me honestly how you feel about things. If you're uncomfortable about something or you don't agree with me you tell me. I also want to know if you're happy or upset about something. Can you do that for me?" asked Mark.

Could he? No, he couldn't. He would never, ever tell Mark if he was unhappy, and he knew that. He could pretend-- but Mark would eventually find out. "No," Roger told him, "I don't think that I can."

Mark was expecting this. Even after his short-lived affair with that particularly demanding boyfriend, it had taken him ages to feel confident enough to voice his opinions, even in situations where he had authority. "Thanks for being honest. Hopefully, in time, you'll feel more comfortable. In the mean time, I'll accept that provided that you're honest with me like you were tonight about private things. I mean it about making it about what you want."

"Are you angry that I said no? I'll sleep on the floor if you want," he murmured. Maybe Mark would just go with it. Maybe he was too tired to think of another punishment

"No, I'm not angry at all. I'm proud that you were honest with me. I'd rather know the truth than have you say yes when you really didn't mean it. You don't have to sleep on the floor." Mark pulled Roger even closer as if to prove his point.

"It's okay. He put me on the floor sometimes when I was bad. It's a... it makes sense, I mean, I don't have a lot of privileges here."

"You've done nothing wrong, so there's no need for you to go on the floor. In the morning we'll discuss privileges. And I don't consider sleeping in a bed a privilege. Sleeping on the floor interrupts your normal sleep patterns if you're not used to it."

"It's carpeted," Roger assured him. "I'll be fine," he said, "it's a lot better than some places I've slept."

"No, Roger. You're not being punished. I want you to stay on the bed with me. Please."

"Okay." He let himself relax again. As a concession, he offered, "I'll tell you the sex rules if you want."

"I'd like to hear them, but only if you're comfortable letting me know."

Roger took a deep breath. "He liked me to be loud--say his name and stuff. The basic rule was that if he was in a bad mood I should say yes. Oh, and I wasn't supposed to have an orgasm if he didn't say I could."

Mark knew it was difficult for Roger to talk about his relationship. His boyfriend sounded incredibly controlling. He probably got off on it. Mark was amazed that a seventeen-year-old could control his body that much. Or could he? "Were any of those rules hard for you to follow?" he asked.

"Not the first two," Roger said. It was easy to be loud, especially when he was allowed to come. And it was easy to say yes, even when he didn't want it--because then all he had to do was lie there.

"What happened if you broke those rules, especially the third one?" asked Mark.

"He... he'd... do things to make me be louder or... kick me off the bed or sometimes be... mean... if I said no."

"What kind of things would he do? And what do you mean by him being mean?"

"I don't know. Hit me sometimes," Roger said. That wasn't too bad, right?

"Oh Roger. I promise, I won't do that to you." Mark thought for a minute. "Did he ever let you say no? Without punishment?"

"S-sometimes," Roger said. The lie hurt... but surely... surely at least once... it just didn't come to mind, that was all.

"It's going to be different here." Mark informed him. "My only rule about sex is that you tell me what you want and what you don't want. I'm not going to stop your orgasms or ask you to service me when you're not in the mood. As for saying my name and being loud, I'll leave that up to you."

These were new concepts that Roger needed a moment to grasp. He wondered, when the time came, would he really be able to say he didn't want to? And more importantly, would Mark really not be angry?

"Do you want me to be your boyfriend, or your..." Roger trailed off, unable to think of a good word.

"I'd like to have a relationship with you, but only if you want one with me," replied Mark.

"I do. I... I think you're... a very attractive, very nice person and I want to be with you for a long time."

"I want to be with you for a long time, too."

"Can we talk about, um, some rules? Please. I want to know."

"You mean rules for you during the day. What do kind of rules do you need?"

"Like..." Roger considered. He went over his day mentally. "Like if the telephone rings. Should I answer it? Am I allowed to make calls?"

"Hmm. It's up to you if you want to answer it. I have a machine, but I don't mind if you answer. You're allowed to make calls, even long distance if you want. What else do you want to know?"

After a moment's thought, he decided to take a risk. "May I go outside?"

Mark was surprised by the question. "Of course you're allowed to go outside. Weren't you allowed outside before?"

Oops. He had been so long with his ex he sometimes forgot what was 'normal'. "W-well..." He could salvage this, he could! "Sometimes... sometimes he would... he needed to..."

Mark realized the extent of the control Roger's ex had over him. Not wanting to make him any more upset, he decided to drop the subject. "Roger, you're allowed to go out whenever you want. If you're going to be a while, it may be a good idea to leave a note or something."

"Okay. Should I cook kosher foods?" he asked. He hadn't been sure, and had tried very hard to do so.

Mark shook his head. "No. I stopped keeping kosher when I left home. My roommate in college introduced me to bacon cheeseburgers. Unless you wish to keep kosher..."

"No-- no, that's okay." He supposed Mark knew he was Jewish, or suspected as much, thanks to his nude arrival. "So my arm's okay, right? You didn't bring home a splint or anything..."

Mark frowned slightly and switched to what he thought of as _doctor mode_. "I actually do have a couple in my car, but I wanted to check with you first. Was it bothering you today? Be honest."

"It didn't hurt too much," he said. It had protested a little when he moved, ached, but adjusted.

Mark didn't like that. He wasn't sure how much he trusted Roger to report his injuries. "Still, I'd like you to come to the office with me. Or at least wear the soft splint and let me help you work the muscle."

"W-what, what would that entail?" he asked nervously. He didn't like how 'work the muscles' sounded.

Mark could have slapped himself for his choice of words. He quickly reassured Roger. "Oh! It's just a little massage and then I'll help you move the arm a little in order to build the muscles back. It shouldn't be painful and it will help you regain use of the arm sooner."

"Ok," Roger agreed. That sounded fine. Actually it sounded flat-out sexy. He remembered his parents telling him medicine was a sound profession. Dating a doctor was the next best thing, right? "Do you go to temple?"

"Yes, I do. I may not get there every week, but I always feel so peaceful when I go."

"Do you go to Beth Israel?" Roger asked, hardly daring hope the answer.

Mark smiled. "Yes. Do you want to come with me?"

Yes. Yes, he did-- but he didn't know that he was willing or ready. It had been years... "Maybe. I don't know. If you want me to."

Mark smiled. His last few boyfriends weren't Jewish and he had missed sharing that part of his life with someone. "I'd like you to come with me. It's nice to have someone who understands."

"Then I'd like to go," Roger decided. He suppressed a yawn, worn out by the day

Mark noticed Roger's face contort slightly and realized how tired he was. "Roger, we'll discuss any other rules and such in the morning. It's been a long day, and I'm getting kind of tired. I think we should sleep soon."

Roger nodded. "Good night, Mark."

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

It had been a long time since Roger was in temple, and it felt strangely right to him. The trees on the grounds and the grass and flowers hadn't changed at all--he always loved Beth Israel for how natural and vivid it was. Back behind the temple he saw the outdoor auditorium where he had given his Bar Mitzvah. Roger couldn't remember the last time he was here, but he was glad to come again.

That is, until he got inside. He saw who sat in the front row and quickly thumped down on the last bench.

Mark surveyed the rows of people trying to figure out where he and Roger could sit. Usually, he sat with his family who also attended temple regularly, but he figured that may be too much to spring upon Roger, especially since this was their first outing in public since Roger's arrival. When Roger made the choice for him, he didn't mind. He saw his parents sitting about halfway to the front. His aunt Margaret was two benches behind them. He waved hello to a few people and then turned his attention toward Roger.

"Did you used to sit in the back when you used to come here?" he asked.

Roger shook his head. He didn't speak, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Returning to temple was one thing, but speaking to his family was quite another.

Mark furrowed his brow and was about to ask why Roger had picked the back, but then he realized that Roger was trying to avoid someone. "Don't worry, we don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to."

Roger nodded. "Thank you," he whispered. He watched his family as he did, terrified they might hear his voice somehow. The rabbi entered the room and Roger fell silent. Ever since he developed the patience he had liked to really listen to the rabbi.

Mark listened attentively and the service passed very quickly. At the end, he turned to speak to Roger and was shocked to find that he was gone. He stood up to go after him, but was ambushed by his parents.

"Mark, honey. It's good to see you again. It's been too long!" gushed his mother. "You've got to meet the Rosenbergs' daughter, Lorraine! Very pretty and single, too, I might add."

Roger had crept out of the temple and slunk over to Mark's car, where he now crouched, out of sight. He hoped Mark wasn't too angry about this. Even if he was, it beat the alternative by a long shot.

Mark scanned the crowd for Roger and he tried to dissuade his mother from setting him up on a blind date. He tried to cut the conversation short, but his mother was like a pit bull with a lamb chop when it came to his supposed happiness. The only way he could get away from her was to agree to having dinner with the family the next day. Luckily he mentioned he had a guest staying with him, so the invitation was extended to Roger as well. Lorraine Rosenberg would probably be invited, too, he thought. Mark glanced at his watch. He had been arguing with his mother for a good ten minutes and Roger didn't have a key to the car.

He was surprised to find Roger crouching. He thought he would be leaning on the car or something. He unlocked the doors and motioned to Roger to get in the car. "Sorry about that. My mother ambushed me and the only way I could escape was to agree to a couple of hours of her trying to feed me and set me up with various women tomorrow night. You're invited, too."

Roger nodded. He slipped into the car and quickly looked over the cars in the parking lot. Unless his family had bought a new car, they weren't here-- and none of the cars looked big enough to comfortably seat all of his siblings, so he guessed they weren't. "How's your mother? And do you want me to go?" he asked.

"My mother is her normal interfering self. And you have to come. I cannot endure hours of questions about marriage and grandchildren on my own. At least we can get a good meal out of the deal, but we're both going to be fussed over." Mark shook his head. "Sorry to bring you into the middle of my family problems."

"It's fine." Roger hesitated, then reached over and rested his hand on Mark's shoulder. "I'm glad you're not going alone," he said.

"Me too." He smiled weakly. "You'd think after learning how to repair them in med school, I'd grow a spine of my own."

"It's okay. I never learned how to stand up to my parents." He thought for a moment, then asked, "Is it too... telling, to bring a pie or something?"

"You can make pie?" Mark was surprised. Even his mother had never mastered pastry. "No, don't worry about being too telling. My parents have been denying my sexuality for years. They'd never pick up on anything that subtle.

Roger grinned. "Good. What's your favorite?"

Mark considered his options. "Blueberry. I don't often eat it because I usually end up with discolored teeth, but if Mom decides to invite any eligible young ladies to dinner tomorrow, that would be a bonus."

Roger flat-out giggled at that one. He didn't mind that Mark wasn't telling his mother about him--he wasn't a secret, just, she might not be ready for that yet. "Then blueberry it is. We might need to buy a few things, but... blueberry pie. With crosshatched dough on top!"

"It sounds good! What do you need? We can stop at the market on our way home."

"Well..." It would be better to stop at home and check the recipe, but Roger was afraid to suggest it. "Blueberries, flour, sugar, condensed milk."

"I have the flour. I don't usually use sugar, so we need that and blueberries. Anything else for the crust? I remember my mom used to use this white stuff when she tried to make pies. They never tuned out."

"No, that's all," Roger said. "You have shortening in the house."

Mark drove pulled into the parking lot of the small market he frequented. "You better come in with me. I have no idea what converted milk is."

"Cond--" Roger stopped himself. He nodded and got out of the car.

"What was that?" asked Mark. He was sure Roger had started to say something.

"N-nothing," he said.

Mark led the way into the store. It wasn't big, but there was a good selection of produce and the people who owned it were friendly. He examined the selection of fruit and turned to Roger. "How many blueberries do you need?"

"About two and a half cups. Uh, maybe two containers?" he suggested, pointing. He wouldn't touch the containers himself, though. "Then we need vanilla, sugar and-- well-- we can get sour cream instead."

Mark placed the containers of berries in his basket and headed to the baking supply aisle for the sugar. "I thought you said we needed converted milk... am I saying that right?"

"Y... well... no... sour cream works, too," Roger said. Since Mark couldn't remember 'condensed' and he didn't want to make him mad but somewhere in Roger's seventeen-year-old mind... that was funny.

"You can see how much I cook! I'm one of the rare people who can burn a pot of water." Mark tried to keep everything light but was a little disturbed that Roger wouldn't contradict him, even in the matter of converted milk or whatever it was called. "What's it really called again? Maybe if I learn the ingredients, I may not be so hopeless. At least I could hand things to you."

"Condensed milk," Roger whispered. It was ok as long as he was directly answering a question, right? He reached for the sour cream, realized what he was doing and pulled his hand back.

Mark chuckled gently. "Oh those ladies over there must have thought I'm an idiot for talking about converted milk. Let's get it. Oh, is there anything else you need while we're here? Not just for the pie, but for cooking in general. You probably know what I have better than I do."

"No--I can make do with anything," Roger assured him. He ignored the comment about Mark being an idiot. He wasn't smart, but he wasn't that dumb.

"If that's everything, we should head to the check out." He turned toward the tills. "You know, I've been coming here for years. When I was little, Mom would take me to the bakery section for and buy me a cookie if I was good that day." He laughed. "You want a cookie, Roger? You've been very good today."

He smiled. "Okay," he said. "That sounds nice, thank you." And he liked that Mark considered his behavior acceptable. It gave him an idea of what Mark wanted, and what he would accept.

Mark led Roger toward the bakery section and inhaled the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. "What kind do you want? I highly recommend their peanut-butter chocolate chip." He was pleased that he could share this memory with Roger.

"That sounds good," he said. Roger had been trained to hear "highly recommend" as something completely without options. Luckily he liked chocolate chips in any environment.

"Two peanut-butter chocolate chip cookies, please." The treats were still warm. He passed one to Roger and took a large bite from the other. "Mmm. Whenever I have one, I always think about when I was little and what a treat these were."

Roger took a bite, trying to analyze Mark's comment. That one was tough, so finally he gave in. Maybe--just maybe--it was an innocent comment. "They're very good," he said.

Mark smiled at him. "I'm glad you like them. I guess we should get going." They lined up and paid for the few groceries and headed to the car. Once they were on the road, Mark turned to Roger. "I normally just relax after temple, but do you want to go anywhere before we go home?"

Roger shook his head. "We can go home. I'll start making the pie--unless there's something you want to do."

Mark thought for a moment. "No. I think I'd just like to relax. I could keep you company while you bake. I don't think I'll be much help with the pie."

"That's fine," Roger assured him. He mentally ran through the recipe in case Mark wanted to help. "It would be nice to have company while I'm baking."

Mark pulled into the driveway and parked the car. "I'm going to change out of my good clothes and put on some jeans," he said as they walked into the house.

Roger nodded. "I'll do that, too," he said. He only had one outfit of Mark's to wear besides sweats and couldn't imagine showing up in temple with pie stains all over his front. That would make him conspicuous.

Mark took his time changing his clothes. By the time he was done, Roger had already started blending flour and shortening for the pie crust. Mark walked over and sat on one of the bar stools he had near the counter. "I'm impressed. You've managed to surpass my mother in your cooking abilities. Please don't tell her I said that."

"I wouldn't," Roger assured him. He wasn't that kind of person, plus he'd been told not to and so would never. He rolled out the dough, turned it into the pie tin and cut off the excess. He set it in the oven and started to make the stuffing. "Do your parents know a lot of people at the temple?" he asked.

Mark laughed. "Only most of the people who go. It's easier to tell who they don't know!"

"Who?" he asked. Roger honestly wanted an answer to that. He just hoped Mark's parents wouldn't connect him to his parents. He doubted it, since he had started using a twist of his real name when he realized he couldn't go home. Everyone called him by his middle name anyway, so that was easy. But giving up his last name had hurt him. Still, he was used to Davis now.

Mark thought for a moment. "Well, they've always been good friends with the Steins and the Rosenthals. They've had the Gollums and the Schwartzes over a couple of times when I've been there for dinner. And the Goldbergs and the Samuelons have seemed to join the conspiracy to set me up with a nice Jewish girl. And of course there's the Himmelfarbs and the Feinbergs."

Roger froze. His throat constricted, and he took a deep breath to calm himself down. "B-but... tomorrow... that's, that's just... your family, and us, right?" he asked.

Mark nodded. "Most likely, it will be just us. When mom has a lot of people over, she usually tells me to dress up."

"But she'd say if someone else was coming, right?"

"Well, most of the time she does when she invites me. She'll talk about how so-and-so's going to come. And she always invites people at temple, so it should be just us."

"Okay. That's good," Roger said. He added filling to the pie crust and started putting on the cap. "What are you going to tell them about me?"

"I'm not really sure. What do you think I should tell them?"

"I don't know. It's up to you." How, Roger wondered, could Mark explain living with a seventeen-year-old boy?

Mark thought for a bit. "Mom won't acknowledge that I'm gay, so I can't say you're my boyfriend. Oh! I have an idea. One of the doctors at the clinic is spending six months in Africa with Doctors Without Borders. We could say you're his son and you're staying with me while he's away."

"Okay. That makes sense." Roger repeated to himself that he was the son of a doctor from Mark's office. He put the pie in the oven. "Okay. What shall we do now?"

"Whatever you want. We could watch TV or a movie or we could play Scrabble or something."

"Um, sure. Any of those sound good. We could watch TV and play Scrabble, if you want."

"That would be great. I'll get my board." Mark went to the closet and got the game from the shelf and set it up on the coffee table in front of his couch. "It's been a while since I've had anyone to play with."

Mark took the letters and tried shuffling them around. "You know, Roger, I realized that I don't know a lot about you. I know you're Jewish and I know you're seventeen, but that's about it. Tell me more about yourself." He thought a moment and then placed OXEN on the board and drew four more tiles.

Roger hesitated. What could he tell? He barely knew what there was to say anymore. "What would you like to know?" he asked. He spelled KNOT across Mark's OXEN.

"Well, how far did you get in school?" he asked as he spelled out TRUST.

"Freshman year." Roger spelled out another word. "I did pretty good, too."

Mark took his turn and drew more letters. "What was your favorite subject?"

"Well... I liked English. We wrote stories and read poetry. And I liked biology and geometry was fun. I liked a lot of my classes."

"Do you miss school?"

Roger shuddered. "There wasn't any point in my staying on. I wasn't good and I had much more useful things to do," he said softly.

Most of the time Roger seemed very mature for his age, but at the mention of his being bad, Mark realized how young he must have been when he left home. He furrowed his brow. "How long were you with him? Your last boyfriend I mean."

"I met him when I was fourteen," he said. "I'd just started high school. My sis-- my-- I was... lonely. And he was nice."

"Did you love him?"

"Of course I love him-- loved him."

"You're lucky, then, to know love so young," Mark said softly. He had dated many people, lusted over some and slept with a few, but he'd really never been in love before. "I don't think I've ever truly loved anyone."

Roger didn't know how to answer. He took his turn at Scrabble. "You're not like him," he observed.

Mark just waited for Roger to explain. After a several minutes and a few more turns at Scrabble, he finally asked. "How are we different?"

"Well... you're shorter," Roger said. And you don't love me.

Mark chuckled. "Yeah, I'm shorter than a lot of people. You're already a hair taller than me, and I bet you have another growth spurt." Mark thought for a minute. He wasn't sure if this was an appropriate question to ask a seventeen-year-old, but he had relatively few people to talk with about matters of the heart. "This is going to sound weird, and feel free not to answer, but how did you know you were in love with him? Did you know right away?"

Roger shrugged. "I just know," he said. He stood. "I don't wanna play anymore," he announced.

Mark nodded. "That's fine. Thanks for playing with me. I'm going to read for a bit." Mark went over to the corner of the room and sat down in his comfortable chair. He'd obviously said something that bothered Roger. He wondered if it was the questions about his previous relationship or his inquiries into the nature of love. But if he didn't ask someone, how would he know to recognize love when he felt it? But what had he said that would bother Roger so much?

He lightly skimmed the book he had grabbed and replayed their conversation in his head. As a scientist, Mark liked to explore things from all angles. He definitely felt something for Roger but he wasn't sure if it truly was love. He certainly was physically attracted to the young man. He cared deeply for him and wanted to protect him, but did he really love Roger? Mark was very guarded and didn't like to broadcast his feelings before he was certain what they were.

Roger went upstairs. The weird thing was, he had never felt the need to do this to himself. He'd never thought about how he would. He'd always been told, had things done too him. He sat on the edge of his bed with his jeans pushed down to his knees, folded a belt in half and hit his thighs, hard. He barely held back a swear.

Mark tried to read for a few more minutes but couldn't concentrate. He wandered over to the kitchen to where the pie was slowly browning in the oven. He looked through the window in the oven door and thought it looked great. He then realized that the timer wasn't set and he had no idea when it was supposed to come out of the oven. He'd seen Roger go upstairs, so Mark climbed the flight to Roger's closed door. He knocked. "Roger?" He called. "When is the pie supposed to come out of the oven?"

Roger put down the belt and pulled up his pants. His thighs throbbed and there was actually blood in a few spots, but nothing showed through his jeans. He opened the door. "I'll go check it," he told Mark, hoping he hadn't left it too long. But he was feeling better now, so he knew if he had burned the pie he had a solution to that.

Mark entered the kitchen in time to see Roger take the pie from the oven. Once he had placed the pie on the cooling rack, Mark went over and engulfed the young man in a hug. "I can't claim anything to do with this masterpiece, so I wanted to hug the chef."

"Thank you." Roger returned the hug. Probably the hardest part of this would be not eating the damn pie! "Do you want something to eat for lunch?"

"That would be great. Now that I've smelled that pie, I'm starving!"

"What do you have in mind?" Roger asked.

"Soup and sandwiches? I can even help, as long as you don't let me near the stove." Mark looked sheepish. "I had to replace a pot a few weeks ago because I burned the soup. I didn't know soup could go up in flames like that."

Roger forced a smile. "Okay," he said. "You make whatever kind of sandwiches you like, and I'll heat up some soup."

Mark rummaged in the fridge and got out some bread, butter, lettuce and tomato. He searched for some sliced beef he knew he had, but cringed when he pulled it out. The edges were a bit green. He threw the meat into the compost bucket and got out the mayo instead. "Tomato sandwiches OK?" he asked.

"Sure. Whatever you want," Roger said. They had some leftover tortilla soup which he now put in a pot on the stove.

Mark put four slices of bread into the toaster and went to work slicing the tomatoes. "I really do appreciate you handling the stove part of things. I'm sure the fire department also appreciates it," Mark said with a grin. The toast popped and he added butter and mayo to it, layered lettuce and tomatoes and finished the sandwiches by cutting them diagonally in half. "I'm getting spoiled by having such good food. Even when I ordered take-out every night, I wasn't eating this well."

Roger smiled weakly. "It's just leftovers," he murmured, almost apologetic. He'd made a pie that day and that was quite a bit of cooking. Nevertheless, he surely could have made something decent. He knew Mark wouldn't be angry, but that just made it worse.

"They're good though." Mark brought the sandwiches to the table and motioned for Roger to sit down. "So what did you think of temple today?" Part of the ritual at the Cohen household was to discuss the service over lunch. He liked the idea of continuing the tradition.

Roger took a bite of his sandwich and a spoonful of soup. "I'm not sure. I see the story differently," he said. "What did you think?"

"I'm not sure. It's one of those stories that got ingrained to me when I was little. Half the time I start to glaze over as soon as I hear the text. I always get this feeling of deja vu when I listen to Rabbi Himmelfarb because he tends to use the same passages over and over and doesn't change his views. How do you see Cain and Abel differently?"

Roger stirred his soup absently. "Well... God puts his mark on Cain. He protected him... he gave him the chance to redeem himself, didn't send him to the slaughter. Cain goes out from the grace of the lord but only to find the goodness in his soul. At least that's how I see it," Roger ended weakly.

Mark paused for a moment. Roger had a point there. "I've never thought of it like that. I've always fallen into the pattern of being horrified by what Cain did and then thinking he was a cruel bastard and then not thinking too much more of the story until next week. That makes sense what you said. Cain didn't lead an empty life. He had children and a life afterwards, even though what he did was so heinous."

Roger nodded. He ate for a moment in silence, save the sound of the spoon against the bowl. For him, Cain was never a murderer. He was a man who killed another man, and Roger always wanted to know why.

"Why did G-d favor Abel? Didn't He know what would happen?" he whispered. He had never asked Rabbi Himmelfarb, who didn't seem open to interpretation, but it was something Roger had never understood. G-d seemed to be punishing Cain even before Cain committed his crime.

"When I was little I thought it was because G-d liked lamb chops better than salad, but when grew up I learned that both animal and agricultural offerings were accepted by G-d. Maybe it's because Abel always gave the very best portion to G-d and Cain didn't pay so close attention to what he was given. Or maybe G-d didn't like Cain's temper? I don't know. I haven't thought about it too much before."

"If G-d didn't like Cain's temper, why goad him?" Roger wondered aloud. He never felt that stories were told fully in the Torah. They never covered why things were done, and that bothered him. He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I don't know about this stuff."

"I don't know why G-d would goad Cain. 'Course, I haven't really thought of it as goading him until you just said that." Mark stopped for a moment and ate some more. "You may not know all the answers, but man, you ask good questions. I haven't thought about the Torah this much since my bar mitzvah."

Roger smiled slightly. "Thank you," he whispered, almost afraid to acknowledge that something kind had been said. "So... what else do you have to do today?"

Mark finished his sandwich. "Not too much. I think I'm going to have a lazy Saturday. I'm entitled to one after treating so many geriatrics at the clinic this week."

"All right." Roger quickly finished his meal and picked up the dishes. "Of course you are."

"I think I'll set up a lawn chair outside and enjoy the fresh air. You want to come?"

Roger shook his head. "Maybe in a minute. If that's ok."

Mark nodded. "That's fine. I'll bring a book outside then, if you'll excuse me." He stood up from the table and got a book from the living room, then opened the patio doors and headed for the shed to get a lawn chair.

Roger washed and dried the dishes. When that was done he made a casserole and put it in the oven. It would cook for a few hours, freeing him up for whatever was needed. Then he went outside and sat by Mark's lawn chair, completely unnoticed.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Mark read for a while and enjoyed sitting in the warm sunshine. After a few chapters he felt the need to shift and inadvertently brushed against something. With a start, he realized that Roger was sitting next to the chair. "Roger, do you want a chair or something to sit in?"

"No thank you," Roger answered quickly. "I'm fine here."

Mark tried to get back into his book, but had difficulty concentrating. After a while he gave up and just stared at Roger for a few minutes. He was concerned. Most people would go to the shed and get another chair or at least take one when it was offered. He'd noticed that Roger went out of his way to avoid disagreeing with him. And when Roger checked on the pie he thought he saw him wince once when he came down the stairs. He didn't know how to approach him about this, so he decided to stay upbeat and gentle and talk about unimportant things. "Nice weather we've been having."

"Yes," Roger said. "It's very... unseasonable." Just a week ago he had been running through the streets completely naked while it was raining. And now it was sunny--not something Roger would ever complain about. He toyed with blades of grass, plucked a long stem and made a whistle out of it. Roger smiled. He liked when his grass whistles worked out. "How's work been?"

Mark was amused by the grass whistle and tried to make his own, failing miserably. "Work's okay. It's been really busy lately. I guess I'm getting a reputation or something. My secretary took another day off this week and then I always get behind. I may need to replace her or get an office assistant to help with the backlog. The little old ladies constantly want my attention. Nothing interesting has come up, but one of the X-ray techs has been in a bad mood this week. Most of the people have been avoiding him at all costs."

Roger smiled. "Can't blame the old ladies," he said. "If you make sure the grass is tighter it won't sound quite so... uh... flatulent," he explained, demonstrating. He blew another clear whistle and smiled. "See? Which X-ray tech is it, Mark?"

Mark took another blade and tried it again. This time, he managed a good-sounding whistle. "Hey! It works. You're a genius, Roger." he grinned. "It's Robert who's in the bad mood. You had Jerry when you came to my office. Robert's bigger and kind of matter-of-fact. No one's complained but Jerry thinks he's been a little rougher with the patients this week. Must be having trouble at home or something. I sure pity Jerry and Melanie, the other tech. They're the ones who have to deal with him all day."

"Yeah, he... he sounds unpleasant," Roger murmured. He laid four strands out in a woven pattern and tightened them. At the mention of Robert he couldn't help but look about.

"He's not too terrible when things are going well for him, and he does good work most of the time. On occasion he's sloppy." Mark stretched a bit. "Listen to me prattle on about the office. Is there anything you want to do tomorrow before we go to my parents' house for dinner?"

"No," Roger said. He added more grass to his little mat. "Anything you like."

Mark watched Roger weave again. Here was another example of how Roger wouldn't risk displeasing Mark by offering a suggestion or opinion. "When you were younger, what did you usually do on Sundays?"

Roger shrugged. "Went to the library sometimes," he said. But only sometimes since he didn't know Mark's preference. Mark seemed to Roger like a library type though.

"That sounds great. I have a few books that need to go back anyway. I always love browsing through the stacks and looking at the new items. The last time I went, the got some new movies in. We could pick up a couple for next week."

"All right. What sort of movies do you like?" he asked.

"Almost anything. Film's always been a hobby of mine. I just like movies. Lately I've been watching a lot of foreign films with subtitles, to see how people in other parts of the world do things. I'm also into drama or movies that explore social issues or just experiment with different ways to tell the story. And some movies based on plays are really good too."

"Yeah," Roger replied, having absolutely no idea what Mark was talking about. He was seventeen and liked action movies and British television comedies and anything that involved Sean Bean topless.

Mark looked at the confusion on Roger's face. "How about tomorrow I choose one and you choose one so we both get something we like?"

"You can pick both," Roger replied. "I'm sure you have great taste."

Mark shook his head. "I want you to pick one. Your favorite. I want to know more about you and find out who the real Roger Davis is."

Roger shivered. He didn't want to pick a movie--he'd pick something Mark didn't like. He knew he would. "Sure. Maybe you could suggest something."

Mark laid a hand on Roger's shoulder once he saw the younger man shake. "What was the last movie you saw at a theater?" he asked.

"It was... oh... I'm not sure. Maybe that one about the, the two women who shoot someone and end up driving into the Grand Canyon," he said.

"Oh! _Thelma and Louise_! I remember seeing the previews for that and wanted to go, but never got around to it. Yeah, I'm up for that. I've got a few in mind to show you, but it depends on what they have."

"Okay," Roger said. He'd hoped to somehow argue his way round to renting his favorite movie--and by argue he means manipulate. Still, he'd liked _Thelma and Louise_ and the bandit in it hadn't been half cute.

Just then the phone rang, so Mark went into the house to get it. "Hello," he answered.

"Mark, It's you're mother. I'm just calling to remind you about dinner tomorrow. We'll be eating around six, so you should come a little before then."

Mark rolled his eyes. Dinner always was at six, and always would be. "Don't worry, Mother. Roger and I will be there." Remembering their discussion earlier, he decided to make sure that there wouldn't be any surprise guests. "Mom, it's just going to be us, right? Family and Roger?"

"Why, yes dear. Lorraine couldn't make it tomorrow. I also invited the Feinbergs but they have a previous commitment. Why do you ask?"

Mark knew he was a bad liar and his mother always seemed to know when he wasn't telling the truth, so his mind scrambled for a truthful reason to be asking that was plausible. His gaze fell on the pie, cooling on the rack. "Oh… Roger is a good cook and he made a pie for desert. I wanted to make sure that we had enough for everyone."

"That's fine dear. I'm looking forward to meeting this houseguest of yours. See you tomorrow."

Once he hung up the phone he went back outside to Roger.

Roger was working on his grass mat. It was getting pretty big now, and he was having fun even knowing he would never be able to move it. "Hi," he said. He sat back when Mark came out.

"That was my mother, reminding me that dinner was at six tomorrow. No one else will be joining us. The people she invited couldn't come for various reasons. At least I don't have to endure Mother's matchmaking tomorrow."

"Oh," Roger said. He couldn't help but hate that Mark's mother, without even meeting him, considered him a poor match for her son.

"Watch, she's going to try to set you up with some young Jewish girl, too." Mark grinned. "It'd be just like her. She can't even say the word 'gay' without whispering it." His grin became wider and a glint appeared in his eyes. "Imagine the look on her face when she walked in on me with a boy in my room when I was seventeen." He chuckled at the memory.

Roger smiled. "That must have been very amusing," he said, trying to remember how he told his parents he was moving in with another man-- then he remembered. He lowered his head.

Mark calmed down for a minute. "I suppose there are less dramatic ways to come out to your parents, but she still didn't get the message. Dad had me speak with Rabbi Himmelfarb about it. Talk about embarrassing, especially since Nanette was in love with me since we took tango lessons when we were twelve. Mom's convinced that I'm just going though a girls-are-icky phase and will grow out of it eventually." He laughed again. "I don't think it's happened yet. I still think girls are icky. What about you, Roger? Do you think girls are icky?"

"Yes, Mark," he answered absently. If Mark thought it, then so did Roger. "Girls are icky."

"Good. That's what we'll say if Mom tries to set us up on a double date or something. I wouldn't put it past her." Mark decided to be a bit more serious. So he stopped laughing and faced Roger. "How old were you when you figured out you were gay?" he asked quietly. He admired anyone who knew themselves when they were as young as Roger.

Roger considered, then answered carefully, "I knew I liked boys when I was eleven. We could double date with lesbians. It would be the right gender setup for your mother."

Mark laughed at that. "You're right! It would. OK, where can we find some nice Jewish lesbians that aren't too far from our ages to date? I told you before, you're a genius." Mark chuckled for a while then got serious again. "I wrote a love note to a boy in first grade, but it wasn't until I was twelve that I realized I liked boys and didn't like girls. Nanette Himmelfarb kissed me after tango class one day and I realized I wished it was a boy kissing me instead. The next week I kissed Caleb Schwartz in the washroom during Hebrew school. Luckily he didn't tell anyone."

Roger smiled. "That sounds very... uh... excuse me." He rose and headed inside. Once upstairs, Roger went into the bathroom and locked the door. He splashed his face with cold water. Stop it, he told himself. Stop. He didn't know what was wrong with him, but it made his body feel heavy and wrong.

Mark followed Roger back into the house but did not continue up the stairs. He was slightly worried at Roger's abrupt departure. Had he said anything to upset him? He only wanted to share his life experience a bit, because he believed in sharing everything with a partner. He decided to wait for half an hour, and if Roger didn't come down, he'd try to talk to him through the door.

Roger sat on the ground, hugging his knees. The first person he had ever kissed... well, he couldn't tell Mark about that. And after Mark had shared so much with him, he'd probably be upset that Roger couldn't tell him-- or maybe he could. After all, it wasn't that uncommon a name, was it?

For the sake of a lie Roger flushed the toilet despite not having used it and washed his hands before heading downstairs.

Mark was glad to see Roger come down the stairs. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I just needed to use the bathroom. I'm sorry I interrupted your narrative."

"That's ok. I thought I upset you or something. I haven't thought about Caleb Schwartz in a while though. He was cute, not hot, but cute."

"No, no. I just... I feel bad. I don't have a lot of good stories to share with you."

Mark put his arm around Roger. "Don't feel bad about that. You probably haven't traumatized your parents nearly as much as I have mine. Luckily they don't know the half of what I did." He smiled. "Any story you tell will be interesting to me, Roger. And you are only seventeen. You're not old enough to have as many stories as I do."

"I can tell you about my first kiss, if you want," he volunteered.

"I'd love to hear about it."

"Well... my boyfriend walked me home after judo. My parents didn't like him so we were seeing each other on the sly, and... he pushed me up against a tree and kissed me. It was really romantic then but makes a kind of lame story."

Mark squeezed Roger's shoulders in a sort-of hug. "It's a great story. How old were you at the time?"

"I guess about thirteen."

"That's a great age for a first kiss." Mark pulled him even closer. "I guess we have more in common. My parents weren't too crazy about my boyfriends either, but that was because they were male. Why didn't your parents like this guy?"

"Well, they... they just didn't think he should be going out with... you know... he was a little older than me," Roger explained awkwardly.

Mark wondered exactly how much older the man was. When he was young, his partners were never more than a year or two older. After college he experimented more with different ages. He had no problem with a younger man and an older man falling in love, as long as they were both old enough to consent

"So, um, whenever you're hungry I made dinner and, um..." Roger desperately grasped for something to say.

"I'm getting kind of hungry now. When did you find the time to make dinner?" Roger was always surprising Mark.

"Right after lunch. While you were outside reading. Do you want to eat now?" Roger asked, already heading into the kitchen to set the table.

Mark checked his watch and realized that it was later than he had thought. "Yes, I think that would be great. Do you want me to help you with anything?" he asked.

"No, thank you. I have it under control." He served the casserole onto two plates and set them on the table. "Do you want anything to drink?"

Mark thought a moment, thinking what he had in the fridge. "I'm kind of in the mood for a beer. There should be a couple of cans in the fridge door. Soda too, if you want it."

"Okay." Roger fetched a can of beer and soda. He poured both into glasses--something about cans at the table was just too much for him to handle. He brought the drinks to the table and sat.

Mark took a bit of the casserole. "This is delicious. You're such a good cook Roger." He took a sip of beer. It complemented the flavor of the casserole perfectly.

"Thank you." Roger ate absently, watching Mark drink. He noticed that Mark drank small sips, which was a good thing. Still... he was just starting out so that wasn't a promise.

Mark noticed that Roger was watching him. "I like a beer now and then. Occasionally I'll have a sip of the hard stuff, but I don't often drink enough to get drunk. Maybe at a party or something. I usually need a good reason to lose control of my faculties." He took another sip. "What about you? Ever been drunk?"

Roger shook his head. "I don't drink," he answered, which was true. The last seder he'd attended, he still drank grape juice.

"Good for you. When I was doing my internship, I spent a few mounts in the ER. About half of the accidents I saw could have been prevented if people hadn't drank to the excess. Much as I dislike the old ladies with gout, at least they don't drink until their heart stops."

"People do stupid things," Roger said. "It doesn't mean they deserve-- I mean-- you-- it's not-- look. People shouldn't smoke. They don't deserve to die of lung cancer. Do they?"

Mark shook his head. "No, they don't deserve it. It's a terrible ordeal. Gay people certainly don't deserve AIDS. And those young kids who die of alcohol poisoning or drug overdoses don't deserve it either. I just mean that it makes me angry that people suffer when they don't have to. And telling loved ones that their family member died when it could be prevented is the absolute worst part of my job."

"Sorry," Roger said. Ok, so that was just pure idiocy. He berated himself for it mentally. Not only was he flat-out arguing with Mark, he was doing it while Mark was drinking.

Mark waved it off. "You're entitled to an opinion Roger. Don't be sorry for stating your mind. You've got some good points." He ate another bite of food and continued to nurse his beer, still aware that Roger was watching the glass as it made his way to his lips. "Does it make you uncomfortable if I drink?" he asked softly.

Yes, it made him uncomfortable. Roger, in his youth, had no experience with drink save others partaking. To him, drinking and becoming drunk were synonymous. But rather than say as much, he said, "It's your choice."

Mark noticed the tiniest shift in Roger's posture as he answered. "I'm just going to finish this one tonight," he said and returned to his dinner.

Roger nodded. He didn't say anything. Exactly how drunk would Mark be after one beer? He wasn't sure he wanted to know, but he figured preparing for anything was the best answer.

Mark felt the need to say something, but he wasn't sure what he could say to reassure Roger. He tried changing the subject to the dinner tomorrow. "So, are you sure you're ready to meet my family? It's not for the faint-of-heart," he joked.

Roger smiled. "I'll be all right. I'm no stranger to large Jewish families."

Mark smiled back. "You haven't said a word about your family. Do you have a lot of brothers and sisters?"

"I..." Roger began, then he stopped. "I used to," he said softly. "I can't see them anymore."

Mark got up and went to where Roger was seated to comfort him. "I'm sorry." He gave him a hug. "Do you mind telling me why not?"

Roger trembled. "Because," he whispered, "they would be ashamed of me."

Mark tightened his hold on Roger and stroked his hair. "Oh, Roger. They have nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing you could do would make them stop loving you."

Roger covered his face with his hands, determined not to cry. Yes, they would, he knew. They would be ashamed of him and they would hate him. "Can I go to bed now please?" he whimpered.

Mark patted his back one last time. "Of course. I'll join you in a while, once I've taken care of these dishes." He noticed the look of objection starting to form on Roger's face. "It's only fair. You did them at lunch and you cooked tonight. I'll see you upstairs."

He nodded. "Okay." He climbed the stairs slowly and stripped. He paused for a moment--if Mark was drunk, Roger knew what he'd want. But he hadn't been too drunk earlier... Roger slipped his boxers off just in case then crawled under the covers. He curled up against the wall.

Mark took his time scraping the plates, then washing them. He finished his beer and poured Roger's discarded soda down the sink and washed the glasses, all the while thinking about what he had learned about Roger that day. He knew he came from a larger family and that he was too ashamed to go back to them. He had gotten into a relationship when he was thirteen. Mark suspected it was the same man that he had escaped from only the previous week. Roger was broken in many ways, and that made him just want to protect him and care for him until he healed.

Mark finished the dishes and then wiped off the counters and table. It was early, but he decided it would probably be best if he went to bed with Roger. Perhaps they could talk some more. He brushed his teeth and stripped to his boxers and climbed in beside Roger. Much to his surprise, Roger was completely naked. Over the past days, he had slept in boxers. "Roger," Mark whispered. "Why are you naked?"

"In case you wanted to..." Roger wasn't sure which verb would be acceptable to Mark. That basically summarized the point, anyway. If Mark wanted it, it was there.

Mark was a bit shocked. He had done his best to make sure that he pressure Roger about being more intimate. Why would Roger suddenly expect him to want sex? He decided to reaffirm that it was Roger's decision alone. "As much as I'd like that with you, Roger, remember it's still entirely up to you. Do you want me to ...?"

He shrugged. Was that relevant? "It's there if you want it," he said. It wasn't a problem for him.

Mark took Roger into his arms and kissed him. He held him tight and delighted in the familiar warmth of having another body next to him. He nuzzled Roger's neck and then whispered in his ear, "I'd like nothing better, but I only want it if you want it, too."

Roger slipped his hand around Mark. "No," he said. He wasn't going to lie. "But if you want to that's okay." It wouldn't be the first time and Roger sure doubted it would be the last. He didn't even mind so much. He liked the idea of Mark doing things to him.

Mark kissed him and then held him close again. "We'll kiss, we'll touch but not go any further. It's not okay unless you want it too. I can't take advantage of you like that." He cuddled up to Roger. "Why did you think I'd want to go further tonight?"

"Drinking... can make people..." Again words failed him. Roger blamed himself for this, for being stupid--it never occurred to him that some situations were difficult for everyone.

So he _was_ bothered by the beer, Mark thought and silently vowed to himself not to drink in front of Roger until they could deal with his past in more detail. Luckily it wouldn't be too big a sacrifice for him. "You won't have to worry about that with me," he whispered.

"Okay," Roger said, more than a little relieved. He would have gotten up to put on his boxers, but he had no desire to leave the comfort of Mark's arms. "Do you want to talk about anything?"

Mark thought about bringing up the alcohol again, but decided it would be best to let it slide for now. Roger had a lot of issues, and that one was almost too raw. He thought for a moment and then decided to let his curiosity take over. "When was the last time you saw your family?"

"I guess... about three years ago. It was a little while after I had moved out. We argued a lot, and..."

"You must miss them a lot. I complain but I think I'd be lost without seeing my family every week or two." Mark cuddled closer. "You said you had a large family? How many brothers and sisters?"

"Three. My brother's nineteen and my little sister's fifteen. My other sister..." Roger swallowed, determined not to cry. He had spent years missing his family, and now he was determined not to lose it. "She's seventeen," he said, and let Mark make the connection.

"But you're... oh, your twin?" he asked quietly. That must be difficult. He and Cindy were fairly close since she was only a year older than him and they had often played together, but from his experience twins shared a special connection. He remembered at the hospital he had witnessed the birth of twins, a boy and a girl. Once they were cleaned up, the boy would not settle down unless his sister was in his sight. It got to the point where he had to suggest they share a bassinet in order for any of the other infants to get any peace.

"Yeah." Roger stroked his palm gently. "I think she... might have tried to kill herself last year," he said. He hoped that wasn't too much information. Mark might make the connection, with the ages and events.

Mark didn't quite know what to say. Working in doctor's offices and checking in on some of his patients at the hospital, he did hear about suicide attempts. He recalled a couple that may have been Roger's sister, but none of them had the last name Davis. Instead of commenting he hugged Roger closer and let him fall asleep in his arms.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

The next day Mark avoided bringing up anything Roger had told him the night before. As they had planned, they did get to the library and borrowed videos. Roger chose _Thelma and Louise_ after all, and Mark _Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf_. All too soon they were on their way to Mark's parents' house for dinner. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" asked Mark. His tone was light.

"I'm sure." After all, Roger hadn't seen the Cohens in years--though he remembered once, when he was ten. He and Sasha had spent the majority of their time hidden away upstairs, mocking Mrs. Cohen's insistence on using Sasha's first name-- Ruth-- and their uptight son. Roger realized now that he had been mocking Mark. Still... Mark had just graduated and his parents had been very, very proud.

But surely they wouldn't remember Roger from that. He had been seven years old.

"Mom can be a little hard to handle. Remember your back story. You're the son of a colleague who's in Africa with Doctors Without Borders." He pulled into the driveway. "We're here. Last chance to bail."

Roger nodded. "If anything goes wrong, I'll just start crying and say I miss my daddy," he said.

"Good plan." He got out of the car and walked up the flagstone walk. Roger was a couple of steps behind him. Mark rang the bell and waited.

The door opened and Mrs. Cohen ushered them inside. "Come on in. Marky! It's good to see you again. You look well. Looks like someone is finally feeding you properly. And you must be Roger! That pie looks delicious. I'm sure Marky has told you about my failures in the pie department. Anyway, let's go into the dining room and Mark you need to say hello to your father." She led the way and Mark fell behind her.

"I told you she comes on strong," he whispered to Roger.

"You weren't kidding!" Roger whispered in response. But things didn't look too bad. It was only Mark's parents, after all. In the dining room, he asked Mark, "Where should I sit?"

Mark looked down at the table. There were only four place settings, so Cindy probably wouldn't be coming. She and her husband took turns accepting family dinner invitations. Like the Cohens, Cindy's in-laws liked to keep constant contact with their son, so now it meant that she had to divide her time. Although she had admitted freely to Mark that dinner at the Weinstein home was far less traumatic. "Sit across from me. Cindy's not coming tonight, judging by the number of plates." As an afterthought he said, "That's my sister."

Roger nodded. "I kn-- okay," he said. He didn't like the idea of being parted from Mark, but he sat where he had been instructed to. Mark's parents clearly had a lot of money, but that wasn't something that made Roger uncomfortable. After all, his parents also had a lot of money. He was used to it.

Mark's father joined them at the table. Being married to Sarah, he didn't often get a chance to get a word in, so he figured he'd talk to the newcomer while she wasn't talking a blue streak.

"Hello, Roger. I'm Abram Cohen. I hear you're staying with my son, but he didn't mention the reason."

Roger shook Mr. Cohen's hand. "My dad works with Mark. He's doing Doctors Without Borders in Africa, and Mark was generous enough to let me stay with him." That was perfect, Roger decided: polite, a little asskissy...

"Wonderful organization that is. Maybe Mark will some day volunteer for it... see a bit of the world before you settle down and have a family, right, Mark?"

Mark just nodded politely. He did want to see the world and help people, but he had no comment about the settling down part.

Abram turned his attention back to Roger. "If you don't mind my asking, why aren't you staying with your mother?"

"My mother's dead," Roger answered. At least that avoided any further questions. Luckily Roger had a quick mind--he didn't know it, but he did.

"Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to open old wounds. Do you like staying with my son? I expect it's different from what you're used to."

"It's very nice. Mark has been very understanding and I've made myself as useful as possible. I think it's working okay. Right, Mark?"

Mark smiled. "He's been very helpful. Roger's a great cook. He baked the pie we brought for dessert. Until yesterday I hadn't even heard of converted milk...no... CONDENSED milk." He grinned.

Sarah Cohen walked into the dining room, carrying a roast. She set it in front of Abram and took her seat at the foot of the table. Other covered dishes were already on the table. "If you can teach my Marky a cooking term, you're a miracle worker, Roger. Abram, will you bless the food?"

Roger grinned at Mark's condensed milk remark, then sat quietly, surprised at how comfortable the Hebrew made him feel. He hadn't heard the blessing in some time, and it was even more familiar than Rabbi Himmelfarb's bland interpretations of the Tanakh.

After everyone had been served, Sarah Cohen decided to get to know her new guest a little better. "So, Roger, where do you go to school?"

Roger opened his mouth, then shut it. He couldn't even remember the name of his high school. "I... well..." He looked to Mark. "Would you excuse me? I need to use the bathroom." He left the table as politely as possible. Roger knew where the bathroom was from his last visit, even if it had been seven years ago.

"Third door to the left at the top of the stairs," Mark called after him. Mark cursed inwardly. Of course they would ask about school. That's what parents do. He thought quickly. He couldn't remember the name of the new schools that had replaced his own so he said the first thing that popped into his head. "Roger's been home-schooled since his freshman year. I think that was around the time his mother passed away. He doesn't talk about it all that much."

"Oh, the poor dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Cohen.

They ate in silence for several minutes. Mark checked his watch and then realized that Roger had been gone for quite some time. "Excuse me, I better go make sure Roger's okay." Mark got up from the table, went upstairs and knocked on the bathroom door.

Roger opened it, not surprised that Mark had come after him. "I'm sorry," he said. He sighed. "I thought I was ready for anything, but..." but that question was just not one he could handle. The truth Roger struggled not to admit was that he had loved school, and he missed school.

"I've covered it. I told them you were home schooled since your mother's death in your freshman year. Be prepared for some hovering by my mother. If they ask, tell them I'm helping you out with math and biology and that you have correspondence courses for the other subjects. I think that's how it works. One of my boyfriends in college did that after he came out his junior year and the harassment got too bad."

Roger nodded. "Thanks, Mark," he said, relaxed quite a bit. "I'm sorry I ran out like that."

"That's ok. I forgot what they'd be like around a seventeen-year-old. Next they're going to ask you if you have a girlfriend," he grinned. "I suppose we should go downstairs again."

"All right." Roger headed back downstairs with Mark and sat at the table. "I'm sorry about that," he told the Cohens.

"That's alright, dear," said Sarah. "Mark told us you're home schooled. How is that going?"

"Oh... great. It's really nice to go at my own pace. And Mark's been helping me out with biology and math," he added, remembering what Mark had told him to say.

"That's wonderful, dear. What's your favorite subject?" asked Sarah.

"English," Roger answered easily. He always had been and, as far as he was concerned, always would be an English nerd. Well, not "nerd", he was too far behind to be a nerd, but... well, he loved English.

Abram chucked. "Mark always hated English. He did alright in it, but always preferred Math and Science."

"That's because there's only one right answer in those subjects," Mark said. "In English, you could say anything at all. There's no clear line between right and wrong."

"But everything is right in English," Roger said, "as long as you can defend it." He blushed, realizing what he'd said. He hadn't meant to contradict Mark like that... but he was wrong! Well not wrong, Roger reminded himself, just... misinformed.

"Defending it drove me crazy because there was no need to in the sciences. It always took me a while to form my arguments. Sciences were so much easier because the proof was right in front of you. In college, I had to take the mandatory English classes and I used to drive my professors nuts because I'd try to prove that such and such a thing in a book was indeed plausible. I borrowed theorems from some of my friends' physics books and then the profs would give me good marks rather than admit they didn't understand my papers." He laughed. "And for poetry I just said everything was a metaphor for death. My professors were relieved when I finished their classes, I bet."

Roger smiled weakly. "Uh... is everyone finished eating? I'll clear the table." He picked up his plate and reached for Mark's. At least getting into the kitchen would give him a quick reprieve from the fear of doing or saying something completely wrong. He was glad this dinner was ending. It had been fairly stressful for him

Sarah smiled but motioned for him to sit down. "That's not necessary, Roger. I don't mind clearing the table. Tell me more about yourself. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No-- it's, it's difficult to meet anyone when you're homeschooled," Roger said. That sounded like a good excuse.

Mark nodded at the excuse but instantly became suspicious when his mother's eyes lit up in delight. Uh oh, he thought. What is she up to now?

"I'm sorry to spring this on you last minute, boys, but I invited some people over for dessert. I had thought they couldn't make it, but it turned out their plans fell through. They have a daughter your age, Roger. Maybe this will be a good opportunity to meet a special young lady. Now Mark, they know that you're a doctor, but please don't mention the hospital, dear. What with all that family went through last year, and that's after their son just disappeared." She continued to gather the plates.

"Wh-what family?" Roger asked, nervous. Surely he was just being paranoid--plenty of sons ran away. Plenty of families had illness. Plenty of families had teenage daughters. That didn't mean it was his family. It couldn't be.

"Why the Feinbergs, dear. Lovely family, we've been friends with them for years. We belong to the same temple. And I'm sure you'll get along well with their daughter Ruth, although for some reason she wants to be called Sasha now..." Mrs. Cohen took a moment to bring the dirty dishes into the kitchen. When she came back, she had a much larger stack of dessert plates.

"Uh, I can't, Mrs. Cohen that was really, really nice of you," Roger said, not wanting to sound rude. He swallowed a remark that Sasha was her middle name and Ruth was just plain outdated and who named their daughter Ruth these days, anyway. "But, there's no way I can date Sasha Feinberg."

"Oh, do you know them?" asked Abram.

Mark watched this exchange and noted with alarm how uncomfortable Roger appeared. Ever since the mention of a family and unpleasant business last year, he had grown paler and more agitated. He thought for a moment and put the clues together. One of the attempted suicides in the hospital last year was named Ruth Feinberg. He mentally calculated a few dates. Three years ago, the Feinberg's son had disappeared. Roger said he hadn't seen his family for three years. Roger would be about the same age as Josh Feinberg. It all fit into place. He was right. There was no way he could date Sasha Feinberg.

Before Roger could answer, Mark go to his feet. "Roger, I think I forgot something in the car. Would you come with me to check?"

"Sure," Roger answered, not sure what Mark had forgotten. They had brought in the pie... what else was there? Or was that a lie? Maybe it was a lie. That made sense. Should Roger have been a bit more willing to play Mrs. Cohen's games? He hadn't meant to be rude...

Roger followed Mark outside, unable to calm his nerves.

Mark opened the car door and took a couple of CDs from the glove compartment. "There, now it isn't a complete lie." He straightened up and faced Roger. "I probably should have figured it out last night, but it didn't hit me until Mom said something about the Feinberg family and their problems last year. You're right, there's no way you can date Sasha. She's your twin, isn't she?"

Roger's throat constricted far beyond comfort at the mention. He was glad Mark couldn't see just how terrified he was. As good as it might possibly be to be, well, himself, the idea of being caught worried him. This was the worst thing he had done since moving in with Mark, and if Mark found out he would be so pissed. And Roger didn't want to know what happened when Mark got angry.

"There's no way I can date Sasha because I'm supposed to be dating you," he said. It wasn't a lie.

"That's right, you're my boyfriend, no one else's!" he grinned. "Not that my mother would understand that one. I bet we could make out on the dining room rug and she still would pretend not to notice." Then he realized that the Feinbergs were probably on their way and the situation would become more and more awkward. He decided to ask straight out. "Roger, tell me the truth, is your real name Josh Feinberg?"

He lowered his head. "Joshua, actually," he said softly. What was he going to do?! He couldn't face his family after this-- and not here!

Mark enveloped Roger in a hug. "It'll be alright in the end. We're going to have to go back inside. I don't know if we can escape before they get here or not. You may have to see them. It's really hard to get away from my mother's dinners. I once had appendicitis and she wouldn't let my father take me to the hospital until after dessert. Remember, I'm here for you." He released Roger and held his hand, then chuckled lightly. "I know it's not that important, but you have to admit it's funny that Mom tried to set you up with your own sister."

Roger was surprised that he laughed. Actually he laughed really, really hard, because after everything it did seem funny. He was so tense his laughter was just... he couldn't stop. "Thank you for not being angry," he said, once he had stopped laughing.

Mark just shook his head. "There's nothing to be angry about. In some ways it makes a lot of sense. Now, do you want me to call you Roger or Joshua?"

"Roger, I guess. Were you there when me and Sasha were born?" he asked, unable to keep back his curiosity. They'd been born mutated, their hands grown together, and the stories Roger had heard always fascinated him--probably because of his own ego but so what. Then it occurred to him-- "Probably not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insinuate..."

Mark laughed. "I'm not THAT old," he teased. But then he realized something. "Actually, I may have been. I volunteered at the hospital when I was in high school. That kind of thing really looks good on college applications, and it was a good way to see if I was cut out for medicine. Anyway, on of my duties was to bring ice chips to the women in labor. I do remember bringing some to a lady having twins. Did your mother have a Caesarian?"

"Yes," Roger admitted, although if that was the most fascinating thing about the birth it probably wasn't his. "But I doubt it was me unless you skipped a few grades." Or Mark was much older than he thought.

"I did skip third grade," he grinned. "And I was only 14 at the time. The doctor showed me the babies after they were in the nursery and told me to remember it because it may not ever happen again. They came out together, looking like they were holding hands. Their skin had kind of grown like that. The doctor told me that true conjoined twins were from the same egg, but these two couldn't be, since they were a boy and a girl. I remember thinking that they were lucky, to be together from the beginning and never have to worry about being alone." He smiled at the memory. "Was that you and your sister?"

"Yeah," Roger said. He couldn't be sure, but it wasn't too likely another set of twins had been born in just that way. "I mean, probably. I still have the scars from the operation." He paused as he heard a car on the street. "Mark... I can't do this."

Mark thought a moment. "Get in the car. I'll try to convince mom you've got a migraine or something."

"Thank you." Roger hugged him tightly, then got in the passenger seat.

Mark slipped into the house and told his mother that Roger wasn't feeling well. He added a couple of white lies to make the story more convincing to his mother, stating that he was prone to migraines and he needed medication so they wouldn't get too bad. Luckily, his mother fell for it and sent him back out with two pieces of pie wrapped up for later.

Roger watched the street warily. Things happened with him and Sasha, and he was sure that she would know if he was there. He just hoped Mrs. Cohen believed Mark-- and felt awful for making him do that, putting him in that situation.

Mark entered the car and started it up. "She bought it. You suffer from allergy-related migraines and need pills to get them under control. Next time I'll bring some aspirin in a prescription bottle for you." He drove around the corner just as another car approached the Cohen's driveway. "You know, one day you may have to face them."

"I know. Some day, I want to-- but not like this. Not... I'm sorry, Mark, but not in front of strangers. And I need to be ready. It's not fair, though, is it?" he asked. His parents probably wanted to see him. "I... I thought maybe... I could talk to just one person first, just... not everyone at once..."

Mark nodded. "I suppose it would be overwhelming. You're probably not the same person you were when you left. They'd expect you to pick up where you left off, too, and that would almost be impossible." He drove a bit further. "Who would you want to talk to first?"

"I'm not sure," Roger admitted. He supposed his father would be the most difficult to speak to, the most disappointed. It was Sasha he missed the most. He feared her the most, too, because she might not forgive him. But it wouldn't be fair to anyone to pick just one person. "My brother, maybe."

"When you're ready, I could contact him for you. No pressure though."

"What can I say? I miss my family." He hugged his knees around the seatbelt. "But they should hate me."

"I doubt they'd hate you. They'd probably be relieved to see you again. If I remember correctly, they think you were kidnapped and are still looking for you."

Roger shook his head. "They knew I was living with R-- with my boyfriend."

Mark took Roger's hand in his as he continued to drive. "How old is he? About my age?"

"Yeah. Give or take," Roger admitted. He'd never been totally sure how old, just a lot older than him.

"Did he let you call them or talk to them after you moved in with him?"

"He... he never... it's not as though he said I couldn't..."

"Did they know his last name? Did you stay in the same place the whole time?"

"No... yes." Roger didn't know where Mark was going with this line of questioning, but he didn't argue.

"Well think of it this way. You were still pretty young and then got involved with a guy about twice your age. Your parents didn't know much about him, not even his last name. Then you disappear, don't call and they don't hear from you for a long time. They don't know enough about this guy to track you down. They probably thought he had taken you away."

"Oh, God." Roger hid his face in his hands and whimpered. He was a horrible, horrible person. What he had done to his family was... awful. How could they want him back now? They should disown him. They should hate him. "Oh, God. I just... I just want to tell them I'm sorry," he said. He fought back tears.

Mark didn't mean to make Roger so upset and felt bad for making him feel so guilty. Luckily they had arrived at Mark's house, so Mark could comfort Roger. He helped him out of the car and brought him into the house. "Roger, I'm sure they don't blame you. Even if you did go willingly, you were only fourteen. They'll want to see you."

He shook his head. "I can't, I can't go back. I can't put them through it." But at the same time, his hands itched for the telephone. "Maybe... maybe I could... call them. I know they're out. I'll just leave a message and they'll know I'm okay, right?"

Mark wrapped his arms around Roger to steady him. "You don't have to go back and live with them. You're always welcome with me." He hugged him tighter. "I think it would be great if you called them. They would appreciate knowing you're safe." Mark leaned over and picked up the cordless phone and handed it to Roger.

Roger punched in the number. He waited while the phone rang, expecting the answering machine. Maybe it would be someone else's answering machine. Maybe his family had moved. After three rings, though, someone answered. "Hello?"

"Hello..." Roger didn't know what to say. He hadn't been counting on actually speaking to anyone. His throat constricted dryly. Why was anyone home? They were supposed to be at the Cohens'... "Adam?" Roger asked softly. "Is that you?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Um." Roger licked his suddenly reluctant lips. _Nobody..._ "It's Josh."

"What?" Roger's brother demanded. "Who are?" he spat. "What's your problem? That's not funny! Fuck you, 'cause I'm calling the fucking cops!"

"No!" Roger cried. "Don't! No, it's really me. It's Josh. You know, your brother? The mutant?"

All he heard for a moment was breathing and incoherent mumbling. Then, "Josh? Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Oh, fuck." He was crying. He wiped his eyes on his shirt.

"Hey. Don't talk like that, you're four-- you're seventeen."

"I know. H-how is everyone? How are you?"

"Okay, I guess. How are you? When can we see you again? W-where are you? Do you need me to come get you?"

"I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm... I miss you..." Roger murmured, and his voice broke. He covered the receiver. "Can I tell him where I am?" he asked Mark.

Mark smiled. "Of course. You can give them the number if you want, too."

"Okay, you know the Cohens' son? Well, I'm staying with him."

Adam's response was basically the longest stream of obscenities Roger had ever heard. "Well I wasn't!" he cried when he finally got a word in. "I used to stay with someone else! Mark's really nice."

"He's forty!"

Roger sighed. "He's thirty and we're not doing it. Listen, can I meet you somewhere sometime? Please? Just you."

"How can you say that? What about Mom and Dad?"

"Tell them I'm okay? Please. I... I can't yet, Adam. I can't make this up to them."

"Make it up-- they just want to know their son is okay! I'm telling them where you are. They deserve to know."

"No!" Roger yelped. "Please. Just... you can tell them I'm okay. Please, I'm not ready yet."

"I'm telling them. It's not fair not to."

"Adam--"

"Joshua, no! Stop being such an asshole."

Roger sighed. He was beat, and he knew it. "Please tell them that it wasn't him three years ago."

"Is he there? I want to talk to him."

Roger turned to Mark and held out the phone. "He wants to talk to you."

Mark took the phone tentatively. "Hello?"

"Mark Cohen?"

"Yes, this is he. You're Roger's... I mean Joshua's brother?"

"Yes. How long has he been living with you? And why didn't it ever occur to you that his family just might want to know where he's been?"

"He's only been here for about a week. I didn't even realize he was your brother until today. I finally got enough clues to figure out who he was and then put it all together. And I did let him know that you would want to talk to you. I encouraged it."

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Roger overheard the question and blushed. His brother had never beat around the bush--this was the boy who called him a mutant when he was young and gave him Indian burns. Still...

"Sleeping with him as in sharing a bed. We haven't had sexual relations and I've made it clear to Roger that I won't do anything unless he initiates it. And even then, only if he is certain he wants it."

"If you hurt him I'll kill you."

Roger's widened. "He doesn't mean that."

"Yes. I. do."

Mark had to smile. He felt the same way about any boy who had taken out his sister. "I promise I will my best to make sure he's happy. I won't hurt him. He's been hurt enough."

"All right. Good. I should go, but I'm going to be in touch. Good night."

"Alright. I'll expect you to call." He gave Adam his number. "Look, he's been through a lot recently. I don't think it will be good for his state of mind if we force him back home."

"What do you mean? What's going on, what happened?"

Mark looked over at Roger and realized he didn't want to get into that in front of him. Roger already felt guilty enough and reminding him of the past horrors wouldn't help him at this time. He would have to face his demons eventually, but this was not the time. He turned his head, covered the mouthpiece and said softly, "I can't really discuss that right now. Perhaps we could talk at my office in the morning."

"All right. All right, that's fine. I'll see you in the morning, then."

"Very well. My appointments start at 9:30 so if you're there around 8:30, we'll have plenty of time to talk."

"All right."

Someone called Adam's name. "Just a minute, Mom!" To Mark, he said, "Unless he's ready to talk to our parents, we should hang up. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Mark raised his eyebrows at Roger. When he shook his head Mark turned back to the phone. "He isn't. See you tomorrow." And with that he hung up.

Roger sighed. He felt worn through. "Bed?" he suggested.

Mark nodded. "Yes. I'm tired and I have an early start tomorrow." He led Roger to their room.

"Mark," Roger asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, "do you want the details? In case my brother wants to know... anything? In case you do?"

Mark also undressed. "Yes. Adam will probably ask a lot of questions. I'd like to be able to tell him something beyond what I speculate." He stripped down to his boxers and climbed into bed, motioning for Roger to join him.

Roger quickly pulled off his jeans and laid down beside Mark. "What would you like to know?"

Mark wrapped his arms around Roger to give him some security. He knew this was going to be hard, so he wanted Roger to feel as safe as possible. "Perhaps you should start from the beginning. You told me about your first kiss. When did you decide to move out?"

Roger winced. "After I lost my virginity," he said. "I... I had spent a couple days with Ro-- with my boyfriend, and when I got home my parents were furious. My dad told me if I wanted to behave like that I couldn't live under his roof. I was already upset. We had a fight and I walked out."

"So you moved in with him. How did he react? Did he like having you there?"

"He said he loved me and he would always protect me. We... adjusted."

"Adjusted?"

"Well... that summer I was home every day and he went to work... I wasn't bringing in any money, so I started helping out more. Keeping the place clean, cooking, you know... stuff."

Mark considered this. "Did he resent that you didn't bring in money?"

"I don't think so. He made money, he... he really disliked someone he worked with, but other than that... money wasn't an issue. But he was giving me food and shelter."

"So you did chores to pay him back," Mark finished. "Did he ask for anything else in return?"

"No. I did other things for him because I was his boyfriend."

Mark thought back to their previous conversations. "When did the rules start?"

"Earlier on there were a lot more of them," he admitted.

"What other rules did he have?"

"Well... you have to understand that... it was when... it was at the beginning of things and I was... he wanted to... you know... and it hurt so I was, you know, I was adjusting, and there were rules that, you know, helped."

Mark had a vague idea of what he meant, but knew he needed more detail. "What kind of rules? I need to know specifics." As an afterthought, he added, "I won't have to tell Adam, but I need a better idea."

"Well, there was the rule about not having an orgasm without him. That makes sense because if I was horny I'd like it more. Things like that." It wasn't distrust, but some of the more intimate details embarrassed Roger.

"Did he ever make you...you know... when you didn't want to? Or did he hurt you purposefully during it?" For some reason Mark couldn't bring himself to say sex.

Roger shrugged. "It hurt the first time," he admitted, "but doesn't it for everybody?"

Mark nodded. "Well, for almost everybody. No, I meant did he take pleasure in causing you pain or anything like that?"

"Well... not... not really," Roger said. "I mean, he liked kinky stuff but doesn't everybody?"

"No, not everyone likes that," Mark said slowly. "What do you mean by kinky stuff?"

"Just whipping and deprivation. Normal stuff!"

Mark couldn't help but cringe. The idea of someone causing pain to Roger made him angry. Those weren't normal practices. "Roger, making you hurt isn't normal."

"But... but it was just... I mean..." He whimpered. "It can't've been wrong," he whispered.

Mark calmly held Roger. "What did he use, when he whipped you?" he asked softly.

"A crop or a wooden spoon. Depends on where we were."

"Did he stop if told him to? Did you have a safe word or something?"

"Well... no," Roger admitted, "but I wasn't supposed to tell him to stop."

Mark reached over and turned Roger towards him. "Roger, you always have the right to tell someone to stop. It's rape if they don't."

"Well... I... I kind of said 'yes' when I moved in," Roger argued weakly. He couldn't stand the idea of it being rape. That was a very sad thing that happened to victims. He wasn't a victim.

"Did he make you feel obligated, then?"

"W-w... he... he said that it was only right and, and he was my boyfriend. I wanted to make him happy!"

"I know you did. He just didn't tell you that you had a say in it." Mark knew it would be a long time before Roger accepted that what he had been through was wrong. He hadn't known any different. Mark decided to let it pass for now. "When did he start hurting you physically?" He paused a moment. "I saw some older breaks on the X rays."

Roger sighed. He knew this part made him seem like a total fool. "Before I moved in, he slapped me once," he admitted.

"And once you moved in?" Mark prompted.

"It got a little worse," he admitted. "He just... had bad spells. He had a problem."

"Before you came to me, did you ever have to see a doctor for something he did?"

Roger shook his head. "It hurt a lot sometimes, but he took good care of me."

Mark frowned, but decided to ask something to clarify matters. "When you were young, did you break many bones?"

"No, never. I fought pretty rough with my siblings but the worst was a dislocated shoulder when I was seven."

The only explanation for what he had seen on the X-rays was that Roger's boyfriend had actually broken bones and not treated them. He must have been in so much pain. "Roger, I saw breaks on the X-rays. At least two of them. Did he bring you to the hospital or anything when you were hurt?"

"I never needed that. When I was really badly hurt he picked a doctor he trusted." Roger realized too late what he had said. Darn! Well, maybe Mark wouldn't realize what he meant.

That made Mark's hackles prick up. Really badly hurt? "How many times did he take you to the doctor? Not counting me."

"Never needed to. You're the only doctor I ever saw."

Mark was thankful that the dark hid the tears welling in his eyes. He saw the breaks. They weren't the worst he'd seen, but because of their location, they would have been quite painful. He felt torn between wanting to kill the bastard who hurt Roger and hiding away with Roger so he would always be protected. "Did you know your arm was broken?" he asked. "Not just the time you came to see me, I mean."

Roger shook his head. "I never knew it," he said. "Sometimes I couldn't use my arm... he made a sort of splint for it and I got along that way," Roger explained. There were times when he needed medication to speak or when it hurt so much he woke up screaming... but he didn't know how to explain to Mark how sweet his boyfriend had been then.

At least the man had the brains to splint the arm. It was lucky that Roger didn't have permanent disfigurement from his untreated injuries. Then he realized he had only seen one arm on the X-rays. "Did you get hurt in other places, too? Your other arm or legs?"

Roger shook his head. "My arm, yes. But it's okay. It's working just fine now."

"It's 'fine' as you say, but not completely better. I noticed you're weaker on that side, which is normal after being in a cast, but we'll have to work on you getting your strength back." Mark hugged Roger again. "What else did he do to you?"

"Nothing! He didn't do anything unreasonable! There was sex and sometimes he got upset with me, but he tried to protect me! He knew when he was dangerous and he kept me safe."

"When was he dangerous?" Mark asked. He suspected that it had something to do with Roger's aversion to alcohol.

"He... uh... he had moods. Usually he knew in advance. Or just after something bad happened. But if he had been drinking, he didn't know and things weren't great."

"Is that when you got hurt?"

"Only when things were bad," Roger told him. "It didn't matter why."

Mark decided he needed to know what 'bad' meant for Roger. "Can you explain the bad times? How often were they? What did he do?" he asked gently. "I just want to understand."

"I'm not sure how often. It just... happened. He got violent. He would put me on the porch so I didn't get hurt."

"What do you mean by violent?"

Roger shrugged. "You know. Violent. Hitting, shoving, that kind of thing," he explained as best he could, not sure what else he could say.

"And the porch? Is it sheltered? Did he ever put you out in the cold without blankets?"

"It was... it was kind of sheltered. It was hard to stay dry when it rained, but there was a little table I could sit under."

Mark shook his head slightly. Roger didn't seem to understand that what he went through was, in fact, abuse. He wanted to protect him and help him heal. He had more than enough information now, but still wanted to give Roger a chance to talk. "Is there anything else you think I should know?"

Roger shook his head. "I think that's all," he said--and he honestly meant that. To him, there was nothing else, nothing wrong with what had gone on with his boyfriend. Things got out of hand, that was all.

Mark gathered Roger into his arms and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "You don't have to go through that again. I won't hurt you," he whispered.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger twisted and moaned. His body was safe, curled up to Mark in their warm bed, but his mind was back in his ex-boyfriend's apartment, the first time he had been put out on the porch. He hadn't known then that it was safe on the porch. And he had a nice view, fresh air. Sure, he was hungry, but he was safe. He hadn't known that he was put out for his own safety, and he fought. As his mind commanded, his body struggled.

Mark woke up with a start. Something about Roger's sleep was off. Mark had grown accustomed to Roger's sleep habits. He was usually very relaxed but slept with little movement once he had drifted off. Instead, he was tense and starting to thrash. Mark tried to comfort him but it did little good. He became increasingly disturbed and started to mumble. Mark couldn't make out what he was saying until suddenly he called out "Robert!"

Was that Roger's boyfriend's name?

"No! Robert, stop!" Roger knew now how useless reasoning was, but then he had been dragged until his arm dislocated and thrown onto the porch. Roger popped the bone back into place and pounded on the door--his fists flailed--"Robert!" he yelped, hurt and scared. "Come back!"

Mark took his shoulder and started to shake it. "Roger! Roger! Wake up! You're having a nightmare."

"Stop, please--" he began, in his dream suddenly being shaken, then his eyes snapped open. "What? Mark?" Oh. It hadn't been real--oh, it had. But he was here. He was safe. "Mark," he repeated. Roger put his arms around Mark and pressed his face to his chest.

"It's okay, Roger. It was only a dream. I'm here for you." He kept his voice low and soothing, rubbing Roger's back to get him to relax. Mark felt his grip encircle him tightly. Roger was so tense. "Do you need to talk about it?"

Roger nodded, then shook his head. He wasn't sure, just happy here, holding Mark. He could feel Mark's ribs and sternum through his skin and muscle, and that comforted him. "Thank you for being here," he whispered.

"I'm here as long as you need me," he replied. "Now go back to sleep." Mark secured his hold on Roger again and shifted so he would be comfortable. He tried to get his body to relax, but his mind was too active. Who was Robert? Would Roger be safe?

Roger pulled away enough to look at Mark's face, and he smiled. Mark made him feel very safe, Roger realized. He trusted Mark. Gently he pressed his lips to Mark's.

Mark was startled by the action, but returned the kiss, leaning into it.

After a moment, Roger withdrew. He settled against Mark again and closed his eyes. "Good night, Mark."

"Pleasant dreams, Roger," he whispered before drifting off again.

A few hours later, Mark got up and decided to let Roger sleep. He needed his rest after the difficult day yesterday, and that nightmare hadn't helped matters. Mark decided to grab a bagel en route to the office, so he took his briefcase and keys and headed out the door.

Outside Mark's office, Roger's brother sat with his head on his knees. He wasn't a big fan of eight o'clock in the morning. At least, he knew, Mark would recognize him--that is, if Roger looked anything like he did three years ago. They had always looked similar.

When he saw Mark approaching, he stood up quickly. Or more, unfurled himself. He was tall, lanky, and exactly what Roger would have looked like if he was healthy. They had the same green eyes, but Adam's challenged; they had the same dark, dark, dark blond hair, but Roger's hung limp and was always oily. Adam was beautiful.

"Adam?" Mark enquired. At the other man's nod, he offered his hand. "Mark Cohen. Why don't we talk in my office? We have a lot to discuss."

Adam nodded again. Yes, they had a lot to discuss--like the whereabouts of his little brother, for one. He followed Mark into the office and sprawled in the patients' chair. "Where is he?"

Mark took the other one for himself. "Roger had a rough night last night. I got him to talk about some of the things he went through, and then he had a nightmare. I let him sleep in, today. Besides, I have my doubts that I could convince him that he'd be completely safe if I asked him to come here."

"What are you insinuating?" Adam asked. He sat, but kept his eyes on Mark, wary. He had difficulty trusting Roger's taste in men.

Mark squared his shoulders but looked directly at Adam. He didn't want to appear defensive but wanted to show that he'd be honest with Roger's brother. "Nothing. For some reason, he's scared to come here, even for a check up."

"Fine." Actually, it was a relief for Adam since what he heard was 'your brother doesn't want to see you'. He had trouble ceding, though. He knew Mark Cohen, had known him for a long time--they attended the same temple, after all--but he just couldn't swallow his pride. "So... what's been going on? Can you tell me that? Where's he been?"

"It's not exactly that easy to tell you. I've gotten him to talk a little, but I had to piece together some of what has happened, and I still don't know the whole story. Hell, I don't even know where to start. I do know he's been with the same man until about a week ago when he showed up on my doorstep."

Okay... so he was seeing the same person for a few years. Maybe that wasn't even a bad thing. "But he's okay?"

"He is now," Mark stated. "But he's been through a lot. I met him here, at the office a couple of months ago. He was in a lot of pain from a broken arm. I'm not supposed to get into the details under doctor-patient confidentiality, but it wasn't from a fall down the stairs, if you catch my meaning. He had other injuries too." Mark tried to figure where to go from there. "In a follow-up visit, I treated him for a severe burn and gave him my number in case he needed help. He called me a little while later, but had to cut his call short.

"His boyfriend came on the line then and had him apologize for bothering me. I didn't hear from him until he showed up at my house."

Adam didn't even think about that for a moment. It didn't make sense. His mind couldn't place it, couldn't handle this information. "So he's okay now," he said slowly. "But you can't tell me anything. Is there anything you can tell me that doesn't fall under doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"Over the past week, I've been noticing little things about Roger. He's constantly trying to please me, cooking and cleaning and doing anything he can think of. He's reluctant to disagree with me and will go out of his way not to contradict me. We went to the market after temple to get ingredients for a pie and I had a hard time remembering condensed milk. I kept calling it converted milk and instead of correcting me, he suggested using a different ingredient.

"He has a constant need to know what the 'rules' are. When I asked him about rules, he told me his boyfriend had them for when things got bad. I'm still not entirely sure what bad means for Roger. These behaviors are consistent with abuse, as are the injuries I saw on him in the office."

"Okay... okay... so... he's scared of... _you_--no offense." It's just the idea that bothered him, that his brother should be afraid of mousy little Mark Cohen. When they had last lived together Roger was approaching the point of kicking Adam's ass, and for a scrawny preemie mutant (as Adam enjoyed calling him) that was quite something. Roger held his own. What the hell had this guy done to him? "I need to see him."

"I understand that, but we should make sure that he's ready to see you. From what he tells me, you didn't part on the best of terms, and now he's blaming himself for causing you pain by staying away for so long. He thinks your family will hate him." Mark looked apologetic. "I've tried to convince him otherwise, but it may take time before he's ready to see anyone. I'll encourage him. I think seeing you would help him get through what happened."

"No. I need to see him. You know, that's bullshit, because even though we did fight-- a lot-- I love him. And he knows that. It's, it's so easy for you to say all that, tell me he's okay, but he wasn't your responsibility. And you can go home and see him. You didn't wonder for years-- you don't know what that's like. You're telling me now that you know where my brother is, but that I can't see him. Try to consider what you're saying."

Mark shook his head. "No, I don't know what that's like. I don't want to shock him or anything. He's very fragile, emotionally right now, but I do understand."

"We need to see him. His family needs to see him, if only to tell him he can come home when he's ready," Adam insisted. He had waited three years for any news of his brother, and now just a bit just wasn't enough.

"How about I call Roger and see what he thinks? I can't leave work today, but if he's agreeable, you can come by after work. I kind of want to be there for him."

"That'd be good." Surely Roger would want to see him. "So Joshua's out of the question? It's Roger now?"

Mark realized his mistake. "I met him as Roger. He hasn't really used Joshua for a long time, so it's not natural for me to use it. I asked him what he prefers, but he won't challenge me, even if he does have a preference."

"All right. Well. I guess it makes sense." He reached for the phone. "You mind if I...?"

Mark motioned with his hand. "Go right ahead. Let me talk to him when you're done, please." It was a request, not a demand.

Adam dialed. When Roger picked up, he said, "Hey, Joshua."

"Wh-who's this?" Roger asked.

"Adam. I'm in Mark's office. Can I come over tonight? Just me. I need to see you."

Roger agreed quickly. "Of course. You can come over for dinner. Um, as long as Mark says that's okay. It's his house. You should ask--"

"It's fine. Okay. I'll see you then." He offered the phone to Mark.

"Hi, Roger," Mark said. "Adam's really looking forward to seeing you. Are you OK with this? Are you ready to see him?" He didn't dare meet Adam's gaze, but he needed to be certain he was doing the right thing for Roger.

"He wants to see me," Roger said. Adam had been not at all unclear about that. "Is it ok with you?"

"Of course it is. I'm glad you'll see him. I'm proud of you."

"O-okay," Roger stammered. He wasn't used to hearing anyone say anything so nice to him.

"I'll try to finish up early tonight, so we'll have plenty of time to visit your brother. Do you need anything from the market for dinner?"

"No," Roger answered quickly. Dinner would be ready when Mark arrived, just like it always was. "Unless you want something specific," he added.

"No, whatever you make will be fine. We'll see you tonight, OK?"

"Okay. W-will you tell Adam that I love him?" he asked nervously. He knew it was a risk, since he hadn't said he loved Mark... but he wasn't sure he did love Mark. He liked him a lot, thought he was kind and charismatic and attractive, but he didn't love him yet.

"Of course. If there's nothing else, I probably should get off the phone. Have a good day."

"You too. Thank you, Mark. For everything."

"You're welcome, Roger." With that he hung up the phone and turned to Adam. "He wanted me to tell you that he loves you."

* * *

Mark left his office and headed for home, wondering if Adam had arrived yet or not. He hoped everything would go smoothly and that Roger would realize that his family really did want to see him and would accept him. He pulled into the empty driveway and walked into the house. "Roger?" he called.

Roger hurried out of the kitchen. "Hey," he said. "How was your day?" He glanced around, thinking Adam might have arrived with Mark. Seeing only Mark relieved him. Roger was still not completely ready.

"Pretty good. Only a handful of patients came in today. Nothing too tedious but no crises." Mark sniffed the air, smelling the aroma of home cooking. "Whatever you're cooking smells delicious."

"I'm glad your day went well. And thank you. I'm making brisket. It's almost ready." The doorbell rang, and Roger jumped. "M-maybe you should answer it," he suggested. The moment Mark's back was turned, he beat a quick retreat into the kitchen. It was probably Adam, but if it wasn't, Roger wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. What if it was someone from Mark's office? Then that person might let slip at work that Roger was here...

Mark went to the door and opened it to find Adam on the doorstep. "Come on in," he said, stepping aside to allow him entry. "Roger's making brisket and it smells incredible." He looked over his shoulder. "Roger? Where did you go? Roger? Adam's here."

He crept out of the kitchen, took one look at his brother and ducked his head. "Hi," he whispered.

Adam couldn't help it: his mind understood on some level, but his conscious mind didn't. "Josh. Hey, c'mon, it's me."

"It's nice to see you," he whispered. "Dinner's ready," he added, then went into the kitchen to set the table. Adam looked to Mark.

"He's afraid, I think. His self-worth is pretty low, and I think he's afraid that you're ashamed of him." He started toward the kitchen. "Just let him set the pace, and respect his boundaries if he doesn't want to talk about something. He's probably changed a lot. How can he be the same person he was before?"

"Trust me, he's not," Adam said. He followed Mark into the kitchen.

Roger had set the table. He hadn't put out drinks, since he didn't know if he wanted to offer Mark beer. Not that he would object if Mark wanted a beer, but he didn't like drinking and he sure wouldn't suggest it. "Drinks?" he asked.

"I'll get 'em. You sit," Adam told him. "Mark, what do you want?"

Remembering Roger's reaction to his request for a beer before, Mark decided that he didn't want to make the situation any more tense. "I'll have a soda please." He stressed the word, trying to convey telepathically that alcohol would not be a good idea.

Adam wasn't old enough to drink--that hadn't ever stopped him, but he had been trained not to do certain things as a guest (drink alcohol; smoke; tell dirty jokes), so he grabbed three sodas and plunked them on the table. "Thank you," Roger told him. He took a soda and waited for Mark to join them.

Mark sat down and opened his can. He really had no idea of what to say. After all, his mother's etiquette lessons never covered what to do when long lost brothers sit down at your table after several years of not speaking to each other. He searched his brain for a topic because he knew Roger would never start a conversation. "So, Adam, are you a student?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I'm majoring in English and studying photography, also. Basically I want to work for National Geographic. I'm still living at home, though, 'cause..." Because their parents couldn't stand to have him gone with Roger missing. Adam didn't mind--it saved a lot on housing fees--but he guessed from Mark's description that mentioning that might be a bad idea. "Eh. I was never the smart one, though. Roger, you in school?"

Roger shook his head. He didn't raise his eyes from his plate.

Mark decided take the attention off of Roger. "Photography, huh? I dabbled a little with that in college as electives, though I preferred film. It's still a hobby of mine."

"When you get bored of treating old ladies' bad chests?" he asked, teasing. Roger shook his head slightly, but the gesture went unnoticed. "I'm sorry. I hear it from your mother. She's very proud."

"Tell me about it. Every time I run into someone from temple, they tell me how proud my mother is of me. Either that, or they ask for a free diagnosis." He chuckled. "I just wish she'd stop trying to set me up with women."

"Didn't she try to set you up with my sister last time? I applaud your choice to run in fear."

"Oh, that wasn't me. That was Roger. She tried to set him up with Sasha." Mark laughed. "Roger had a good idea that we should double date with lesbians to get her off my back."

"Ooh, that would've been good," Adam said, laughing along with Mark. "So you two are a couple now?" he asked.

Mark looked over at Roger and then nodded. "Yes, we are. We're taking it slow, but I'm very lucky to have him."

"Take care of him," he said, allowing the threat, _or else_, to go unspoken. "Roger, when did you learn to cook like this?" he asked. He tried to say "Roger" as much as possible, tried to get used to it.

"When I was living with my ex."

"Well... it's really good."

He smiled. Didn't look up, but smiled. "Thank you."

Mark nodded in agreement. "I've been spoiled since Roger moved in. He's giving my mother a run for her money with his cooking. And he's a better baker. I can't believe his pies."

"Wow. Don't tell Mom, she can't even make cookies. Your ex must've been a pretty awful cook."

"N-no, he could cook... he just liked me to."

"Did you like to?"

Roger nodded.

"Oh. Well that's all right then. Why'd you leave him?"

"C-c-cause..." Roger looked to Mark.

Mark reached over the table and grabbed Roger's hand. "It's not my story to tell. I think you can trust Adam."

"Because I'm a coward," Roger answered softly. "He's sick. I couldn't deal with that."

Mark cocked his head and looked at Roger. He hadn't mentioned anything about sickness before, but he didn't want to question him in front of his brother. He just waited for Roger to continue.

Adam shook his head. "You're so full of shit, Josh. You didn't leave him because he was sick."

"He is sick," Roger said. He raised his voice just above a whisper. "He's a sick man and I thought I could make him better. I thought he would try to get better. I was wrong. I paid for that until I got tired of paying for his failures." He hunched his shoulders, waiting for the judgment that would inevitably result of this admission.

Mark got up and put his arms around Roger to comfort him. "You're right. He was sick, but it was a sickness he could take control over. I'm glad you had the courage to leave."

Roger shivered. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Mark, he did, he just worried that he would start to cry if this continued. "I-is everyone finished eating? I'll clear the table," he volunteered, but he didn't move.

Mark gave him another hug. "It's alright. I'll clear. You talk with Adam."

"I should go get something," Adam said. "I brought you some of your old stuff." He headed outside and Roger started clearing the table, letting Mark help him.

Mark handed Roger some of the plates. "How are you doing?" he asked. He wondered how much of an emotional impact Adam's presence was having on Roger.

"Okay." He started to rinse the plates, then sighed. It wasn't right of him to lie to Mark. "I shouldn't make excuses for my behavior. I know that."

Mark passed him dirty dishes to rinse. "You shouldn't make excuses for his behavior either."

"At least he tried. I just ran out." He shook his head. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"

Mark nodded. "I'll go back to the table."

"I-I meant… I have to go to the bathroom," he explained. Roger dried his hands and went upstairs. He'd been wailing on himself whenever he started to feel an insurmountable guilt, which is what he did just then. He couldn't focus on anything but the pain.

Meanwhile, Adam returned hauling a ratty black backpack by one strap. "Hey," he said. "Where's Josh-- um. Roger?"

"He's using the facilities," Mark explained. "What did the rest of your family say when you told them about talking to Roger?"

Adam shrugged. "They didn't say anything. I didn't tell them."

Mark wasn't all that surprised. He supposed it would be cruel to say anything when the others weren't able to see him, too. Maybe they could arrange something, but who knew when Roger would be ready to see everyone. "So you snuck his stuff out?"

"Yeah. We never really wanted to consider the possibility that Roger had died, so his room is just how he left it, sans the dirty laundry. There are also the presents in the closet. We've kept the same nondescript boy things in case he should come home, you know, some Christmas or Hanukkah. I brought him the baseball. Our parents won't miss it for another month or so, and hopefully by then..."

"... by then he'll be mending fences and speaking with the rest of your family. I'm not going pressure him, but I hope he'll be ready for that soon." Mark thought for a moment. "Are you going to say anything?"

"To my parents? No. 'Your son is fine, but you can't see him'? It sounds like a ransom note, and it's cruel."

Roger returned. He started drying the dishes. "Rog, I brought you some stuff," Adam said. "Not clothes, since they wouldn't fit, just... stuff."

"Thanks, Adam."

Adam shifted slightly. He wasn't good at thank-yous, giving or receiving. "Mark, do you have anything sugar-oriented?"

Mark wasn't sure. "Roger, do we have dessert?" He usually kept frozen yogurt in the freezer in case he craved something sweet, and they hadn't indulged since Roger had moved in, so he could offer that if necessary.

Roger dried his hands and pulled a plate down from the cabinet. He'd made unnecessarily chunky macadamia nut cookies, just in case.

"I ask because the mutant brother I remember was a sugar fiend," Adam said.

Roger blushed. "Adam..."

"Well you used to be," he said. "You stole my cupcake." He took a cookie and gave one to Roger. He held out one to Mark.

Roger's eyes widened at the cupcake remark. "I was six!" he protested.

Mark accepted the cookie and took a bite. It was heavenly. "Roger, this is to die for. I've never had such a good cookie."

He grinned and blushed. "I'm glad you like it," he said.

Adam finished his cookie. "So, Roger... why didn't you call us?" he asked. "I know you and Dad fought but why punish the rest of us?"

"I wasn't punishing anyone, Adam. He just... I wasn't... he told me not to call."

"What?!"

"Well he told me he talked to Mom and Dad and they never wanted to see me again--"

"You believed that?" Adam asked, incredulous.

"If I didn't, it was calling him a liar."

"He was a liar. Mom and Dad never said that. They wouldn't say that. You didn't think to question this guy?"

"He-- I-- it wasn't..."

Mark wrapped Roger in a hug to calm him down. "I don't think Roger had a lot of opportunities to question him," he said softly.

"Okay. Well just so you know, your family loves you. And you can come home whenever you want--to visit or whatever." Adam sighed. "I should go... it was really good to see you." He hugged Roger tightly.

"I'll walk you out," Roger volunteered. They hugged again at the door, then Roger returned to Mark. "Did I do ok?" he asked.

"You did fine. I'm glad you got to reconnect with your brother. Do you think you'll want to talk to the rest of your family any time soon?"

"I don't know." He hadn't been able to explain to a single person why he had and hadn't done things... He shuddered. "Maybe not. Maybe we can head to bed soon?"

"Don't you want to see what Adam brought for you?"

He didn't, but he opened the backpack because Mark wanted him to. He found a baseball, some books and three of his favorite pairs of socks. He smiled. "Cool."

"It must be weird, seeing him again," commented Mark. He couldn't imagine being separated from his family like that. True at times, he wished they'd disappear, but he didn't really mean it.

"I just wonder what he thinks of me," Roger replied. He wanted to get to bed, just sleep and forget about this day, about how cowardly he was.

"He's happy to see you again. This morning, when you weren't at my office, he was so disappointed. I thought he was going to head over here as soon as he left the building. I think it's like a miracle to him to have you back."

No, Roger thought, because he wanted his brother, and he got me instead. He hated that feeling, the overwhelming disappointment. He wasn't what Adam wanted. He wasn't what anyone wanted. He was a pathetic waste of space.

"I'm gonna go to bed, ok?" he said.

"Ok," said Mark. "I'll be up shortly. I'm going to read for a little while, then I'll join you." He watched Roger climb the stairs and walk down the hall to the bedroom.

He then went to the study to get a book on Psychology. He was a little confused about what he should be doing for Roger. Obviously, there were many underlying issues: the abuse, reconciling with the family, the incident that triggered Roger's moving out in the first place. He hoped that he could handle this. Roger probably needed counseling, but he did not know how to broach that subject with him. In the mean time, he'd make do with some readings on Stockholm Syndrome, child abuse and family dynamics.

Roger stripped down to his boxers. His thighs were sore and bruised where he'd hit them earlier. He pressed the heel of his hand into one thigh and smiled, then slipped under the covers and closed his eyes. He was happy there, and comfortable, but he didn't want to sleep without Mark. Monsters crept out of the dark, kept at bay only by Roger's consciousness.

Mark flipped through the book and realized his mind really wasn't on the readings. They were well-written and informative, but he was not in the mood do extract the valuable information from the layers of research notes, so he decided just to mark certain pages to read later. He slipped the book into his briefcase to read at the office if he got a change. It had been a long day, so he decided to turn in a mere fifteen minutes after Roger. He crept upstairs, brushed his teeth, stripped down to his boxers, placed the clothes in the hamper and slid in between the sheets next to Roger.

Roger smiled into the darkness and cuddled up to Mark. "Hi," he murmured. He breathed in the scent of Mark's body, relaxing with each breath.

Mark leaned against Roger, feeling his warmth. "I couldn't concentrate enough to read. I just wanted to be with you again."

Roger nuzzled Mark's chest. "I feel safer when you're here," he said.

"I'm glad you feel safe. I want to protect you," said Mark.

Roger pressed closer. He winced when his thighs brushed Mark's knees and resettled himself. "You're a very good person."

Mark moved over to Roger to wrap him more completely in his embrace. "You're a good person, too Roger. You're smart and kind and an amazing cook. Never forget you deserve kindness and love." Mark knew it sounded corny, but thought that Roger needed to hear that often. Maybe he'd eventually believe it.

Roger blushed. He was glad it was dark, so Mark couldn't see. "Thank you, Mark," he whispered. "You're an amazing person. You... you should know that."

"Goodnight, Roger," he whispered. "Pleasant dreams."

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Mark decided to sleep in for a few minutes and felt Roger slip out of the bed. He heard the shower running, then sat up and stretched. He rolled out of bed and thought that he'd help out and make it for once. Because his mother told him to always pull the sheets off and put them back in place, he took off the blankets and the top sheet. He separated the sheet from the pile of covers and started to spread it when something caught his attention. On the bottom sheet were a few dark spots. He inspected the top sheet and found the same thing. What could it be?

He looked at the stains a little closer. They were a dark brown color that stood out against the light blue sheets. When he got closer he realized they were bloodstains. There wasn't any pattern to them, but they were on the lower half of the bed only. Mark looked down at his boxer-clad legs. He hadn't scraped or cut himself so he didn't think the blood was his. It had to be Roger's. Why would Roger be bleeding?

Roger showered quickly. He lathered his body and hair with soap until he was even paler than, well, than Mark. Then he stood under the spigot until the water ran clear and toweled himself dry. He balled up the towel and his dirty boxers and shoved them into the laundry basket, then dressed and returned to the bedroom.

As soon as he saw the state of the bed, and Mark dealing with the sheets, he hurried forward. "Don't worry, I'll take care of that." He'd thought the sheets weren't too dirty--he'd only changed them four days ago--but if they were bothering Mark he needed to change them now.

Mark looked over at Roger and decided that he better make certain that Roger was okay. The doctor in him wouldn't let it go. "Roger, are you hurt anywhere? When I went to make the bed, I found some drops of blood on the sheets."

He shook his head. "I'm fine," he assured Mark. "Probably just caught my arm on a corner somewhere," he said. He started to take the quilt out of its cover, then the pillows.

Mark shook his head. "It's on the wrong spot for it to come from your arm. It's definitely the lower half of your body. If you're injured, let me take a look. I don't want you getting an infection or something."

"It's nothing, I'm not injured." He fetched fresh linens and started to cover the mattress. Maybe if Mark saw that he was getting along all right, he'd forget about the blood.

"Then where did the blood come from?"

"I don't know, Mark." He tensed, but kept working.

Mark saw Roger's muscles tense up and knew he was hiding something. He decided to keep pressing because Roger's health was important. He hoped it was just a scrape or cut that he was embarrassed about, and not a symptom of a serious illness or something. "Roger, I better take a look and see if I can find out where that blood is coming from. It could be the indication of something really serious, especially if you don't know where it's coming from."

"I'm fine, really," Roger assured him. He finished putting on the sheets and tucked the quilt in at the foot and sides of the bed, turned down. Then he arranged the pillows. He'd gotten so good at this he could be a hotel maid. It wasn't even because Robert had liked it--Roger liked sleeping in a clean, tidy bed. It helped him relax.

"Let me be the judge of that. I don't want anything to happen to you."

Roger knew when he had lost. "Wh-what do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Take off your pants and get on the bed. You can keep your boxers on for now."

Roger looked at him, not understanding. He knew what Mark was after, but... "Wouldn't it, wouldn't it be easier for you to do if I took them off?"

Mark furrowed his brow, then realized what his words must have implied. He blushed. "Oh! No, I don't mean that, Roger. I'm just going to check your legs for cuts and abrasions. If I find the source of the bleeding, then I know it's not anything too serious. Keep your boxers on for now."

Roger pushed his jeans down and stepped out of them. He sat on the edge of the bed with his arms across his thighs, focusing on the floor by Mark's feet

Mark looked at all the exposed flesh on Roger's legs carefully. He couldn't find anything unusual until he looked above Roger's knees. He could see a slight discoloration near where his boxers covered his legs. "Could you move your arms off your thighs? I'm going to move the boxer legs up to check there."

"Please don't," he whispered. He didn't care what Mark wanted with him in sexual terms, but he had been beating himself so Mark didn't have to do it, because he knew Mark wouldn't want to, and he didn't want Mark to have to. Besides which, he didn't want Mark knowing how awful he had been.

But his innate desire to please won out and he moved his arms off his legs.

Mark gingerly lifted the fabric of Roger's boxers and gasped. His thighs were covered in bruises and welts. Some were very fresh, others were starting to heal. They were obviously the source of the blood. He could see the edges of whatever made the marks... a ruler or belt or something like that. These marks were too new to be made by Roger's ex, so they obviously were self-inflicted. He looked over the wounds and made certain they were clean and not infected. "These are pretty clean and clear of infection. You can put your pants back on."

"Thank you." He pulled up his pants quickly. The bed was made already, so he picked up the dirty linen and went to collect the dirty laundry from the bathroom.

Mark followed Roger down the stairs. He wanted to say something about the injuries, but he wasn't sure what. Finally he just said, "We'll have to have a talk tonight, OK?" in what he hoped was a calm tone

That concerned Roger. What about? What had he done wrong? Was this about the sheets? Should he have changed them earlier? "Wh-why? I-if this, if it's the, the sheets, I, listen, I promise, all you've got to do, just tell me how often you like them changed, I'll take care of it!"

"It's not about the sheets. I only changed them because of the blood. Once a week is fine. It's not about the sheets, it's about your legs. I think we need to talk about how you got your bruises."

"N-n-no, we d-, we don't need to talk about that."

"I think we do. I'd like to talk now, but unfortunately, I probably have five chest coughs waiting for me in the office already today. I think it's important that we discuss it though."

Roger wanted to curl up in a corner somewhere, or maybe throw up, but he nodded. There was plenty of time for throwing up and curling in corners while the sheets were in the wash. "Okay," he whispered.

Mark led Roger downstairs to the kitchen, where he poured himself a coffee, thanking his mother silently for the coffee pot that worked on a timer. "I'm going to try to get back a bit earlier than usual today, Ok?"

Roger nodded. "Okay," he said, and made a mental note to have dinner ready a little earlier than usual.

Mark went into the study and grabbed his briefcase. He made a mental note to also look up articles about self-harm in the psychology journals he had already placed in it. Maybe they could give some insight into the situation. Mark was concerned about Roger. He hoped he'd know how to handle him and for a moment wondered if he should try to find a counselor through the office to talk to them both. He was scared of making things worse for Roger.

He came out and gave Roger a quick hug. "Have a good day. I'll see you when I get back."

* * *

Roger made sure everything was perfect. It had to be, if Mark was going to forget about earlier. He had dinner ready, the house clean--he'd been cleaning like mad, had done the laundry, everything anyone could ask for, Roger had done. Well, within reason, but surely Mark would see how good he was being! Mark was reasonable. He couldn't overlook...

And Roger knew this. He still wanted to run and hide, but he forced himself to remain upstairs and just fret until Mark came home.

Mark had a full day, but it wasn't overly busy. Most of the patients that day had problems that were relatively easy to solve and most of them were somewhat in a hurry so the chatting was kept to a minimum. Mark even had time to read a few articles that he thought would help him understand what was going on with Roger. Unfortunately, they didn't offer him any new insights or advice about how to handle the situation. He considered calling an old classmate of his, who specialized in psychology, but he wasn't sure what he would say. Roger's behavior was unsettling and definitely not healthy, but he wasn't entirely convinced that Roger needed direct intervention. Yet.

The articles he read made Mark see that Roger's problems could get worse, but he hoped that a positive stable environment would help him. If it didn't they could always look to therapy and even medication, but Mark decided not to think about that unless it was necessary. He knew getting Roger to talk to anyone in a clinical setting would be a battle. He already felt guilty about costing Mark money for food, so medical expenses would be an issue for him.

As he promised, Mark managed to finish up early and arrived home by 4:00. When he walked into the house, he was struck by how clean it was. The scent of cooking food was wafting through the house, and a pie was on the cooling rack on the counter. He's trying to please me again, thought Mark. One of the articles about abused children he read talked about sometimes having a need to please in order to feel a sense of worth.

He looked around for Roger, but couldn't see him immediately. "Roger!" he called. "I'm home. Where are you?"

Roger was in the bathroom when Mark arrived home. He'd tried not to be, he really had, but he'd drunk milk to calm himself and after a while, the milk was through with him. He'd sat a long time, what felt like forever on a full bladder, and finally had to run to the bathroom. And just his luck that he should be in there when Mark returned home!

Roger finished up quickly, scrubbed his hands and dashed out. "Hey, Mark." He smiled, and found to his surprise that he wanted very much to run up to Mark and hug him.

Mark grinned at Roger. "There you are! How was your day?"

"Good." He found cleaning very relaxing, but even if he hadn't he wouldn't have told Mark so. "How was yours?" Roger asked.

"It was fairly calm. The old ladies didn't want to talk all day today. No great disasters happened." Mark sat down for a moment and pondered if he should bring up Roger's legs at this moment. He decided to do so, but from a purely medical perspective. "How are your legs? No heat or redness on the marks?"

"They're fine," he answered stiffly. He realized that he couldn't get out of this one.

Mark decided there was no time like the present than to start talking. "Roger, I'm concerned. How did you get the bruises?" He already knew, but wanted to see if Roger would admit what he had done.

Roger opened his mouth and couldn't make words come out. His muscles tightened. Surely there was some alternative explanation! He couldn't think of any, though, maybe because he knew the answer.

"I don't want to talk about this," he whispered, staring with all his might at a spot on the floor.

Mark tried another tactic. "Did you do this to yourself?" he asked, again trying to get Roger to admit something.

His chest constricted. Roger squeezed his eyes shut. This is not happening, this is not happening. "I don't want to talk about this," he repeated. His voice was higher than it had been the last time he spoke. He pressed his nails into his palm.

Mark was frustrated but he didn't want to scare Roger or make him think he was angry. He asked a third time: "Roger, did you make the marks on your legs?"

He whimpered. There was no way to get out of this. "Yes," he whispered.

"Why?" His voice was soft, not accusing.

"Because... because... please don't, please," he whimpered. Roger was beginning to feel dizzy. The room tilted and whirled around him. He sank down to his knees to keep from falling.

"Roger, I want to know. Was it something I did?" he pleaded with the younger boy. Mark knew it was hard for him, but he thought it was better to keep pushing him, for now.

"No, no!" How could Mark think that? He was perfect, amazing, there was nothing wrong with him. Roger covered his head with his arms, trying to disappear.

Mark slowly got closer to Roger and slid a hand onto his shoulder. "Why do you feel you have to hurt yourself?"

He hugged himself tightly. "Please stop," he whispered. He couldn't tell Mark. Mark would hate him, be furious with him, maybe even make him leave

Mark decided to change the topic. Roger obviously wasn't ready to answer yet. "If you can't tell me why, can you tell me when you did this? How many times?"

"I don't know." He grabbed handfuls of hair and pulled. "Yesterday. Today. Three days ago." He couldn't remember every time he had needed to.

Mark wrapped both his arms around Roger. "Did you do this before you came here?"

Roger tried to speak but only managed a squeak. He shook his head.

"Are you sure it's not something I'm doing then?"

"No! It's not!" he insisted. "Please stop, Mark," he begged softly.

Mark's heart wrenched at the distress that Roger was feeling, so he decided to back down a bit. He didn't want to let it go completely, though. "Roger, you know I care about you. I trust you for now, but I want you to do something for me. When you need to hurt yourself, come and tell me. I'm not going to stop you. I won't ask questions. I just want to know when you've done it so I can make sure you get medical attention if you need it."

"Okay," he whispered. Then he considered the consequences. If he told Mark... what if Mark was asking because he liked that? If it was his kink?

"Oh, no." Roger pulled away. He couldn't go through this again. He couldn't be with someone like this. "No, no, no," he whimpered, scooting away. When he hit the wall he didn't think, mid-panic, of an alternative route. He stayed there, shaking.

Mark realized that touching Roger would probably be a bad idea, so he tried to soothe him using words alone. "Calm down, Roger. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not angry. I just want to make sure you're ok and don't suffer unnecessarily. I'm not going to hurt you further."

Roger nodded. He shook slightly. "Okay," he whispered. "It's... I..." Then he didn't know what to say. I'll stop? But that was a lie, and he knew it was a lie, just like I'll tell you would be a lie.

Mark realized that it was time to drop the issue for now. Roger just couldn't take any more. He decided to change the subject. Food always was safe. "Is dinner going to be ready soon? It smells delicious."

Roger nodded. "It's in the oven," he said softly. "It's ready when you want to eat."

"I'm a little hungry now. I only had a light lunch today." He smiled. "I've gotten so spoiled by your cooking, the sandwiches from the coffee shop down the street just don't seem appealing any more."

Roger nodded. He stood shakily, not expecting his legs to support him--but they did. He made his way into the kitchen. He'd made enchiladas, one of his favorite recipes because it was a messy food. Roger loved cooking messy foods. Oh, he had done his best and made the kitchen shiny again, but he'd had fun.

He put two on a plate and set it on the table for Mark, then covered the pan with tin foil.

Mark watched Roger serve the food and was surprised when he didn't take any for himself. "Aren't you going to eat, too?" he asked.

"I'm not hungry," he explained. He put the pan in the 'fridge.

"Keep me company while I eat?" he asked, as he cut into the enchiladas with his fork. He took a bite. "Delicious. I don't think I've ever had homemade enchiladas before. My mother only specializes in the standard Jewish fare." He ate a bit more. "Where did you find a recipe for these?"

Roger shrugged. "I didn't really use a recipe," he admitted. "I can try to make one if you want." He enjoyed watching Mark eat and slowly began to relax.

"I'd like one, but you'll have to give me lessons in order to follow it. You're a culinary genius, you know. Did you ever consider going to cooking school and becoming a chef or something?" he said around another bite.

"No," Roger answered shortly. So as not to seem rude, he added quickly, "School was never for me." He hated that. He had liked school. He wanted to go, learn more. He loved the feeling of accomplishment with each new piece of information. But it had been drummed into him that school was not for him, and Roger bowed to that fact.

"Really? Adam gave me the impression that you did pretty well when you went."

"I did. I got straight A's." Well. There had been a B in eighth grade physics, but generally he had done well.

"That's great. Why would you say school was never for you when you enjoyed it so much?" he asked.

"It just wasn't," Roger said. "I mean... I was living with Robert, I... there were more important things for me to do than..."

"Oh." Mark realized it was another way that Robert controlled Roger. "Do you think you'd ever want to go back?" he asked.

Roger shook his head. "I wouldn't graduate high school until I was twenty-one," he said. It would be too embarrassing for him to manage.

"There are other ways to do it," Mark suggested. "You could get an equivalency degree or take correspondence courses, like we told my mother. If you want, I could look into that for you."

"Do you think I should do that?" Roger asked.

"It's entirely up to you, but it may give you more opportunities. It's hard to find a job these days if you don't have high school. Also, if you find a career that interests you, you won't have so many steps to take."

"But..." He glanced at Mark. No, no, of course Mark would let him have a job. Roger licked his lips, afraid they might crack. He hadn't left the house every day in years. "Okay," he said. He nodded. That felt good. "Okay. Maybe I could try correspondence school."

"I'll look into that for you tomorrow. I can give you a hand in Math and the sciences. You're on your own for English." Mark grinned. "Not that you'll have any problem with it."

Roger smiled shakily. He knew it was a sort of a cop-out but it was a step in the right direction. "I do it because you don't," he blurted, before he could think about it. When Mark looked at him strangely, he said, "The... the thing with my legs. It's just easier if... I don't have to tell you when things go bad, when I'm..."

Mark was pleased that Roger confided in him about the self-abuse, but was a little confused by the reasoning. "I won't what? Hit you? Roger, you haven't done anything bad. In my eyes anyway. What do you mean by things going bad?"

"Oh..." Roger thought for a moment for the last things he had done wrong. "Yesterday I burned dinner," he said. He had managed to salvage the meal, but it was a waste of Mark's money and a waste of good food.

"I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Roger, I don't consider things that are accidents to be bad. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes."

"It was," he said. "An accident, I mean." He certainly hadn't meant it. But it was still a waste and still Roger's fault for not paying attention.

"If you know how much food I've ruined by cremating it, undercooking it, or letting it spoil in the fridge because it took me 3 years to learn the meaning of expiration dates, you wouldn't mind a little burned dinner by accident. Sometimes people have things on their mind." Mark continued. "I can't condemn you for wasting food. It would be hypocritical."

"Okay." Roger shifted awkwardly. "If... I just... I thought it would be easier, and you would still want me here if, if I just took care of it myself and didn't bother you..."

"Roger, there's nothing you can do short of murder that would make me want to get rid of you. I've come to care about you a lot during the time you've been here. Of course I want you here." Mark looked him in the eyes. "You're not bad Roger. You may make mistakes but you don't deserve punishment for them. You don't deserve to be hurt."

Roger blushed. He had to disagree, but he wasn't sure how to do it without, well, disagreeing. "I'll try to be better," he whispered. "I don't like getting punished."

Mark looked over at him again. "I know you're human. Humans make mistakes. If it's an accident, then you shouldn't have to punish yourself. If there's something you think is bad, I'd rather know about it and talk to you about why it is or is not bad. Don't worry about bothering me. It bothers me more that you feel like you deserve to be hurt."

Roger nodded. "I'll come to you next time," he promised softly. He traced designs on the table with his fingertip. "What... what if I do something that you do think is bad?"

Mark knew that Roger needed consequences in his life so he couldn't just brush off the question. "If that happens, we'll discuss it and come up with a punishment we both can agree upon. And I can tell you, most likely it won't involve physical punishment. I can't hurt someone else. It goes against the oath I swore as a doctor."

Roger hadn't thought about that before, though of course he knew what the Hypocratic Oath was. "What happens if you don't follow the oath?" he asked, curious.

Mark blanched at the question. He didn't like thinking about that time in his life, but he owed it to Roger to be honest, even if it was painful. "I've never broken it intentionally, but when I was an intern in a hospital, I prescribed some medication to a patient. I read her chart and did a history. I didn't know she had allergies to certain drugs when I prescribed them. She died." He paused for a moment. "I got really depressed for a while. I talked with Rabbi Himmelfarb but he didn't help all that much. I had a hard time eating and sleeping. I constantly doubted my abilities as a doctor and couldn't do my job. My attending physician referred me to a psychiatrist and she helped me work my way through it."

"I'm sorry," Roger said softly. It had not been his intention to bring up such painful memories for Mark. "D-did everyone in your office take it?" he asked. "The oath."

"Well, all the doctors have. I'm not sure about the nurses. The technicians and receptionists and clerks don't take it."

"Oh." He had wondered if his ex had taken it, if he could be, well, stripped of his employment. He noticed that Mark had stopped eating and without a word took his plate to the sink to wash it.

"One of the things that doctor taught me was that we're all human and we all make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes have bad consequences, but it doesn't us bad for making them. I had to learn to forgive myself."

Roger wondered if that applied to him, too. He wouldn't soon be forgiving himself for what he had done to his family, but he wanted to make it right. "When I was with Robert, he... he used to get really upset sometimes. He hated one of his bosses so after a bad day, he would come home and if I did something wrong, he said I did it to annoy him. On purpose. Part of me knew I didn't but I kept thinking that if I tried hard enough..."

"No, Roger. You didn't do those things on purpose. I bet there were times when he'd get angry over things that he didn't mind on other days. Am I right?"

Roger nodded. "There were good days," he said. "There really were." He returned and sat opposed Mark. "May I ask you a personal question?"

Mark nodded. "Go ahead."

"What was your first time like?"

Mark thought back to the experience and tried to put it into words. "I guess it was good. I was sixteen and I thought I was in love. Jason was about three years older than me. I knew him from school and we had been dating for about six months. He had just gone away to college in the city and was back to do laundry and visit family and friends. He told his mother he was going back on Sunday night, but he picked me up and brought me to an inn instead."

Mark smiled at the memories. "He made it really romantic. He had rose petals on the bed and candles around. Normally, I'm not that schmaltzy, but I could tell he wanted to make our first time together special. I told him before that I was a virgin and nervous, so I appreciated the extra effort. He was really sweet about it. We'd done some things before, so he knew some of what I liked and made sure to kiss the right spots and touch me all over. He made me feel like I was the most important person in the world."

"He prepared me well and made sure to use lots of lube, but it still hurt. To tell you the truth, I didn't really like it all that much at first, but his attention and the way he cared for me and was so concerned about me more than made up for it. And once the endorphin rush hit, I was flying."

Roger smiled. "He sounds like a great guy," he said. But in truth, he was angry. Happy for Mark, but angry with the man who had taken his virginity in such an unpleasant way. He wanted to kill him.

"He was. I'd dated a few other guys before him, but he was my first serious boyfriend. He taught me to respect myself and not to be ashamed of who I was. I think being with him helped all my other relationships." Mark smiled. "He's still living in the city. He met his current boyfriend his second year at college and they've been together ever since. Do you mind telling me about your first time?"

Roger nodded. "Do you think... we could go upstairs and... I just feel safer when you're holding me," he whispered, blushing.

"Of course." Mark took him by the hand and led him up the stairs to their room.

Roger stripped down to his boxers and slipped under the covers, facing the wall.

Mark also removed his clothes to his boxers and climbed into bed behind Roger, wrapping him in his embrace and giving him a small kiss. "You're safe with me" he whispered. "Do you want to talk now?"

"I was thirteen or fourteen. And I was small. He laid me down and kind of... rubbed lubricant on me. Then he told me that he loved me. He kissed me. He told me it always hurt the first time but he would make it gentle. It hurt and I cried. He told me that... it would... it would hurt less with time. It felt like I was being torn apart. I begged him to stop. After, he held me. I couldn't walk right for days. He let me stay until I seemed somewhat normal."

"Oh Roger." Mark held him close. "I'm sorry. It shouldn't have been that way." Then a thought occurred to him. "How much longer did you live with your family after that?"

"I didn't. My dad kicked me out." Roger gave the reply matter-of-factly, because he couldn't stand to remember how he had felt that day.

"That makes it worse, doesn't it?" Mark commented softly.

Roger shrugged. He blinked rapidly, desperate not to cry. "I lived with Robert... and he was right. It did stop hurting after a while."

Mark sighed. "I find that sad. Sex shouldn't be a duty, but an expression of feelings for each other." He paused. "Was it fun for you? Or more something you had to do because you were his boyfriend?"

"It wasn't something I had to do," Roger answered quickly. Even he understood that this was wrong. "I could easily have said no."

Mark tried again. "I don't mean that he forced you or anything, more like an obligation or something like that. Did you get anything from it at all?"

Roger thought hard on that one. He certainly hadn't enjoyed it, for the most part. "He was in a better mood after," Roger said. Surely that was something.

"That's all?" Mark was shocked at how much Roger had missed out on. He was angry at that man for never considering Roger. "I take it he wasn't concerned about your needs then. Sex can be really enjoyable, especially when your partner wants it to be as good for you as it is for him."

"If you say so." Roger didn't like sex. It was uncomfortable and usually hurt, and if it happened too often he hurt when he walked and went to the toilet. But he wouldn't outright disagree with Mark.

Mark was saddened by this reaction. He knew Roger's experiences were brutal, but the fact that his partner had never given him a positive experience was very worrying to Mark. He longed to take the hurt away and teach Roger that sex wasn't a bad thing, or meant for only one person to enjoy. And though he knew Roger was no where near ready for more physical aspects to their relationship, he longed to teach Roger about pleasure and the passion that could be expressed between two people.

But for now, he just wanted to keep Roger safe and help him build trust in people again. He cuddled against Roger and gave him a little peck on the cheek. "Maybe one day you'll find out for yourself." he whispered.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger woke early and slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Mark. He hurried down to the kitchen and started breakfast. Maybe if Mark was in an especially good mood today, he would forget that he wanted Roger to come into work with him.

Mark lay in the bed for a few minutes and listened to the sounds of Roger working in the kitchen. He liked hearing the sounds of someone going about their day. It made him feel connected to the world some day. He rose and went to the washroom, took a brief shower and then got dressed. By the time he went down the stairs, the smell of bacon was permeating the air.

He walked quietly into the kitchen and watched Roger for a few minutes. The younger man was making scrambled eggs, but the motions reminded Mark of why he wanted Roger to come with him to work. Although there was a lot of improvement in his arm, Mark noticed that Roger moved somewhat stiffly, so he was wondering if he was in pain at all. Not that Roger would tell him if anything was wrong.

It wasn't long before Roger served up a plate to Mark--bacon, eggs and toast. Traditional breakfast and completely delicious, just the thing to distract even the most dedicated doctor. He sat opposite Mark with a plate of toast and eggs for himself and started to eat.

"This is great," Mark said between bites. "I'm so thankful I decided not to stay kosher when I left home. Bacon is my weakness," he joked.

Roger smiled. "Have you ever tried a bacon cheeseburger? Amazing. Best food in the world." He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, swallow, and explained, "I'm picky about bacon. Don't like it out of sandwiches." He didn't want Mark asking questions about the conspicuous lack of bacon on Roger's plate. He'd set aside a few pieces for later, though.

"I like it just about anywhere. I once went to an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet and they had trays of it. I was in heaven." Mark ate a few more bites. "Don't forget you're coming to the office with me today."

Roger winced and bit back an obscenity. "A-are you sure that's completely necessary?" he asked. "I'm feeling fine, I really am! And there's things I really should get to around here. The bathroom's all... grimy... and there's, I should make dinner, you know, so we can eat it, and... and..."

Mark cut him off. "Yes, Roger. I've overlooked your arm for far too long. I noticed you've got some stiffness in it, and I need to make sure it's healed properly. And I take it you haven't had a physical or vaccinations since you left home, have you?"

"W-well... well, no," Roger admitted sheepishly.

"Judging by your age, you're past due for tetanus and Rubella boosters. You need a physical if you want to work eventually, and I want to get some bloodwork done, too. You're a healthy seventeen-year-old and you're sexually active."

There was no way out of this: Roger recognized that. He nodded. It sounded simple enough, a few injections, getting hit with that little rubber hammer thingy. He could handle that. "I won't need any x-rays, will I?"

"Actually, you will. That's the only way I can be sure the bones in your arm are healed." Mark wondered why Roger seemed so bothered by X-rays. They didn't hurt, unlike the needles, which often did.

He paled. He couldn't get x-rays. "I-I really feel... I mean... it doesn't hurt... couldn't I just stay here and, you know, it's, I feel fine," he babbled.

Mark shook his head. "I'm sorry Roger, but I've let this go almost too long. If the bones healed improperly, you may need to have it rebroken or have surgery. I also have to check the tendons, and I need equipment in my office. Plus even if your feeling well now, I want to make sure you don't have anything that may be hiding in your system and show up weeks or months down the road."

"Please," he begged softly, blushing. He didn't like doing this. "Please let me stay here... I'll give you blood to take in, in a tupperware or something..."

Mark lightly chuckled at that image. "Can you imagine if I got pulled over for speeding and I had a tupperware container full of blood in my car?" He shook his head. "Roger, I really need you to come. The containers wouldn't be sterile so that would contaminate the sample... plus I don't think that's quite legal. Why are you so upset about coming to my office? You weren't scared before when I treated you there."

"I don't want to go," he whispered. It was the best answer he could give: he knew telling Mark the truth would cost a man his job, and although Roger loathed him... a part of him still loved Robert.

Mark didn't want to hurt Roger in any way, and for the most part, backed down when he needed to. However, matters of health were always a grey area for him. "Roger, you're going to have to come with me. You can stay in my office instead of going to the exam rooms, except for the X-rays. I don't want you to suffer because something might be wrong and we left it too late."

Roger shook his head. "I can't," he insisted, wishing Mark understood. "Nothing's wrong. I feel fine."

Mark stood up and wrapped Roger in a hug. "If it's the money, don't worry about that. This may seem a bit forward, but I called and had you added to my insurance the other day"

He trembled. How could he say no? Mark had been so good to him, and this... "Please, Mark, I... isn't there any way you can just... feel the bone?" he asked.

"I'm sorry, but that won't tell me enough. I need the X-rays. Why are you so scared of getting X-rays?"

"B-because... it's... I..." he garbled, unable to string two words together. There was no good explanation. It didn't hurt, it wasn't invasive... "I just... can't."

Mark tried to be patient. There was obviously something going on there, but he wasn't sure what Roger was getting at. "I'll be there to hold your hand," he offered. He knew it was lame, but maybe it would help Roger get over his fears.

"Please don't make me do this," he begged. "I'll do anything, but not this."

"Roger, it will be ok. I promise. Why can't you get X-rays done? They won't turn you radioactive, contrary to what comic books teach." It was bad attempt at humor, but Mark hoped it would make Roger relax. He could feel Roger's pulse get quicker and quicker and he was starting to develop a flush, indicating higher blood pressure. Something was terrifying Roger so much that he was reacting physically.

He shook his head. "No... no." He couldn't, just couldn't, and that was the end of it. He knew what he should do: he should laugh at Mark's bad joke and go into the office with him, just deal with it. "I'm not going!" He jumped up and drew away from Mark. "You can do anything you want to me, I don't care, but I'm not going," he decreed, feeling foolish and weak.

"Roger, calm down! I won't do anything to hurt you. You know that!" Mark was desperate to understand. What had Roger so scared? Was it the X-rays themselves?

"Then don't make me do this," Roger said. He shrank in on himself. There had to be an alternative

Mark was tempted to give in and let the issue drop, but something inside him said that there was much more to Roger's fear. "I can't unless you tell me why you're so scared. Your health is important, and I'm not going to risk it unless I know why."

Roger opened his mouth. He tried to explain but the words wouldn't come out. He tried again: nothing. He licked his lips and suggested, "Maybe... maybe there's another office I could go to..."

So it's something about my office, thought Mark. He could accept bringing Roger to another office, another doctor. Actually, he had been considering asking someone else to take over Roger's care because of their involvement now. Only his expertise in orthopedics prevented him from passing on the case. Mark wanted to delve deeper and find out what about the office scared Roger so much. "I'll look into finding somewhere else," he agreed, "But how am I supposed to know that you won't refuse to go there? What is it about my office that scares you? The memories of being hurt? Me?"

Roger shook his head. He hated that Mark was hurt, that he blamed himself. "It's not you," he whispered. "Please... just... please... I'll go anywhere else," he promised. And he would. Roger wanted the pain in his arm to stop, but he wouldn't risk seeing Robert again--or worse, Robert seeing him.

Mark saw how upset Roger was getting so decided to concede. If Roger got any more upset, he'd make himself sick, and Mark couldn't bear that thought. He still wanted to know what was going on, but Roger's overall well-being was starting to be compromised. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll find another office, possibly one in the city. It shouldn't be too hard." He went over and hugged Roger. "I still want to talk about this after work, okay?"

Roger put his arms around Mark and held him tightly. He needed the comfort of that solidity just then, and with his body pressed against Mark's he nodded. In that moment he felt safe enough to admit the truth.

* * *

Mark was tense after his day at the office. His confrontation with Roger was a taste of the rest of the day. Being November, there was an influx of flu and minor accidents due to a change in the weather. The little old ladies were genuinely sick. He has a shortage of flu vaccine and was concerned about some of his more elderly patients. Plus the number of slip and fall accidents had the X-ray technicians up to their ears in work. Two of them put up with it, as they had the last couple of years, but one just seemed to grow more disgruntled as the day wore on. Mark had almost snapped at him when he complained about another wrist fracture. It didn't help Mark's stress levels. The weather also made driving more stressful since the roads were slippery and he had to pay more attention to his speed and others around him. By the time he got home, his shoulders were aching from stress and he had a minor headache. He was almost tempted to unwind with a beer, but knew he didn't want to alarm Roger again that day.

Roger could tell. He knew when people around him were stressed--there was a telling shift in gait, and it made the air brittle. Today Mark was stressed. That frightened Roger. Mark was stressed and it was his fault, at least partly.

"H-hey," he said softly, when Mark came inside. "Bad day?"

Mark flopped down on the couch and tried to rub his neck, a habit he only performed when tense. "You can say that again. Even with your cancelled appointment, I barely had enough time to sit down. The weather caused all sorts of slip-and-fall accidents and given the average age of my patients, that's a lot of broken bones and flu." He sighed. "Some of the people at the office were in a bad mood, especially that one X-ray tech. I was this close to yelling at him, but managed to keep my temper." He demonstrated by holding his finger and thumb half an inch apart. "And the drive home was no picnic either. People forget how to drive in bad weather. I almost got into an accident when I left the parking lot."

"I'm glad you're okay," Roger said, and meant it. He stood behind Mark and began to massage his shoulders. Roger knew just which x-ray tech was in a bad mood. That x-ray tech had probably been in a bad mood for the past two weeks.

"Ohhhh, that feels like heaven," said Mark, relaxing into the massage. "Thanks. How was your day?"

"It was fine." Roger continued, since it made Mark relax. "Dinner's ready when you're hungry," he murmured. Maybe, by some miracle, Mark had forgotten about their talk.

Mark reveled in Roger's touch for a few minutes longer. He could feel the tension leave his body and was much calmer when he stopped. "I haven't really had a chance to eat all day. Just a half a sandwich when there was a break between patients at one." He stretched and felt the kinks leave his back and shoulders. "You've got the magic touch. I feel so much better."

Roger all but beamed. "Come and sit down," he said. "You need to eat something." He understood that Mark was in a rush often throughout the day, actually he sort of liked that--it meant that when Mark came home he appreciated Roger all the more.

Mark followed Roger to the table. "I'm sorry, but I wasn't able to find another doctor today. I'll do it tomorrow before my office hours and get Jeannie to call for an appointment. I must not be giving her enough work, because she managed to take both coffee breaks and lunch today. I'll also make sure to look into correspondence courses for you. I've got a few leads, but didn't make the calls yet."

"Okay. Thank you." Roger filled two bowls with tortilla soup and crumbled cheese onto them, then added tortilla strips. Traditionally this would involve avocado but try finding good avocados in November! He set a bowl in front of Mark and took the other himself.

Mark ate heartily. He was famished from his long day. After a few minutes, the edge was taken from his hunger and he looked over at Roger. "This really hit the spot. I needed something warm. You're spoiling me again." he grinned. "Given any more thought to cooking school?"

"A little," Roger admitted. He didn't want to go to cooking school, though. He wanted to study English--not that he could admit that. He would never make it.

"I'm glad you're thinking about the future. You can do anything you want to do you know, Roger. I'm just teasing when I talk about cooking school." He ate some more. "So what would you like to do tonight?"

"You wanted to talk," Roger blurted. He didn't savor that talk, but it was better, he felt, to get it out of the way early on. Maybe they would even enjoy their evening. Roger was determined not to break down this time.

"Yes, I did." Mark was surprised that Roger was so willing to talk right away. He expected that he'd want to do other things and then talk in bed before they went to sleep. It seemed all of their serious conversations happened there. "This morning, I was very worried about your reaction to going to the office. You seemed okay with it until I mentioned X-rays." He didn't push further, just wanted to see if Roger would volunteer more information

Roger nodded. He locked his jaw, then realized he wasn't helping by being reticent. If he wanted to get this over with, he needed to help. He took a deep breath. "You won't just accept that I don't like your office?" he asked.

Mark shook his head. "If it were the office as a whole, you would have put up a fight before I mentioned the X-rays. The fact that you volunteered to put your blood in tupperware eliminates the needles as the cause. Why are you afraid of X-rays?"

He sighed. "I'm not." The idea of X-rays had bothered him before, but three years with an x-ray technician had taught him that there was little to no chance of mutation or injury.

"Then why are you so afraid to have them taken?"

"I... I just..." Come on... don't be a wimp... "Someone who works in your office knew me before." It was true, but saved Robert's dignity.

Mark furrowed his brow. "Are you afraid they'll tell your family where you are?"

He shook his head. "It's not that..."

"So they knew you when you were with your ex? You're afraid they'd tell him where you are?" Mark smiled. "We have privacy agreements at the office. If word got back, that's a breech of their employment conditions."

"No-- I mean-- that's when, but..." Roger shook his head. "It's not safe."

"I don't think you have to worry about word getting back to Rob..." Mark's voice trailed away as his brain finally connected Roger's ex-boyfriend to the surly technician employed in his office. "My X-ray technician is your ex, isn't he?" he said softly. Although it was phrased as a question, there was little doubt in Marks mind of the fact.

Roger ducked his head and hunched his shoulders. He wanted to appear as small as possible, to disappear. Suddenly he was afraid Mark would make him go back to Robert.

He nodded.

Mark got up from the table and went to Roger, wrapping his arms around him in a hug. "I won't make you go to my office. You're safe. I won't let him find you."

"He hates you," Roger whispered. He held tightly to Mark. "He hates you so much. If he knew I was here he would kill you." In truth Robert probably wouldn't, but in Roger's mind things were rarely as reality showed.

"We don't really get along, but I doubt that he'd kill me," said Mark. "I'm really careful about what I say about my private life at the office. Some of the patients would be uncomfortable if they found out I was gay, so I make it clear that my practice and home life are to remain separate." He hugged Roger tighter. "But, I appreciate your concern."

Roger nodded. He would do anything for Mark--anything short of follow him to work. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," he said.

Mark smiled at him. "I understand why you didn't, but I'd prefer if you told me things right away. I'm not going to make you go back to him or try to get rid of you, no matter what you say or do." Mark truly believed his words. He was growing rather fond of Roger and cared deeply for him, more deeply than most of his previous boyfriends. He had realized that when he had called the insurance company, thinking that he would like it if it remained a permanent arrangement. Granted, he wasn't ready to call it love. That would take time.

"If he knew I was here he would make me go back," Roger explained. Robert would find Mark's phone number and address, just like Roger had. He would show up and Roger would have to go home with him again.

"I won't let that happen," Mark stated. "I wish I could get rid of him at the office, but I don't have grounds to. Being in a bad mood isn't enough to fire someone, unfortunately."

Roger swallowed a bite of soup, thinking for a moment. He knew he could... but should he?

"What about statutory rape?" he asked softly, choking on his heart.

Mark thought for a moment. "Not grounds for firing someone, but if he were convicted of a sexually based crime, then he wouldn't be allowed to work in my office. But that would mean you'd have to press charges and go through a trial. Do you think you could handle that?" That was a lot of pressure to put on someone so emotionally traumatized.

Roger thought about it. He would have to see Robert again, which would be difficult... and he didn't necessarily want to ruin him... did he? The thought disturbed him. No, no, of course not. Of course he didn't. Except that he kind of did. And a trial, a fair trial, that would let the law decide. That had to be right... didn't it? "I could try."

"It's going to be very hard," Mark warned, "But I'll be here for you and support you through it. With the X-rays and medical reports I made before, we could add assault charges as well."

"Whatever you think is best. I don't know about... this type of thing," he admitted. In fact he hadn't even heard the term statutory rape before, but he'd been doing some research of his own.

"We'll have to contact the police in order to file a complaint. Then I think we should talk to my lawyer. He'd be able to advise us on what to do. Do you want to file the charges tonight?"

"I don't know. Can we? I guess as soon as possible..."

Mark was proud of Roger for being so decisive. "Get your coat. I think this is the type of thing you have to do in person."

Roger didn't even stop to protest that he needed to do the dishes. He got up and pulled on his coat.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

The weather was still cold and a gentle snow was falling. Mark got to the car and started it, letting it warm up. He motioned to Roger to stay put as he took the snow brush from the back seat and cleared the windows of snow. By the time he was done, the engine was warm enough that he didn't have to fear it stalling. Mark drove very carefully to the police station downtown. The roads were a bit slippery and it wouldn't do to get into an accident. He parked in the lot across the street from the station and then walked to the counter holding Roger's hand.

A police sergeant was waiting there. He was a bit surprised to see them, considering the weather. "How may I help you, boys?" he asked.

Mark nudged Roger to respond.

"I... um..." The words caught in Roger's throat. He tried again. "I need to report a crime," he managed in a slightly strangled whisper.

The sergeant reached for a form on the desk behind the counter. "What is the nature of the crime?" he said in a bored tone. He hoped it wasn't someone witnessing a strange shadow in the yard or something like that.

Roger glanced at Mark and realized that he would again have to answer. "Um, it's um," he babbled, then managed, "statutory rape."

That made the sergeant look twice. "Are you the minor in question?" He asked. At Roger's nod he asked, "How old are you and when did the offense occur?"

"Seventeen. Three years ago through two weeks ago." Okay. This part, Roger thought, was easier. All he had to do was answer questions, just give facts, and that wasn't too hard.

The sergeant made a note. "When's your birthday? Technically, it's only statutory rape until you're seventeen."

"I was seventeen three weeks ago." Did that matter? Roger wondered. He hoped it didn't. It was still a crime, right?

"That's fine. It just gives me the time frame of the crime. What's the accused's name?" The sergeant thought for a moment. "And his approximate age. There's a clause that says that consent can occur between minors if the accused is within 4 years of age of the complainant."

"He's older than that. Thirty... thirty-two. Robert Evans." Roger tried to think of other helpful information, but he realized he didn't even know Robert's address. He hadn't really been outside, unless he was locked out, in years.

"Do you have an address or phone number for this guy?" the sergeant asked. When Roger shook his head, Mark pulled out his business address book that he had grabbed from his briefcase. The Sergeant filled in the information and nodded. "OK. Now what's your name?" he asked Roger.

Roger nearly said 'Roger Davis', he was so used to his new name. "Joshua Roger Feinberg. F-e-i... yeah." He watched the Sergeant copy it down.

The sergeant looked at the name. For some reason, it seemed vaguely familiar. He recorded Roger's address, phone number and date of birth, then read over the sheet. "Ok. Now it says we need someone to take your statement. That can be me or a detective or whoever. You just have to go and tell the details like when it first happened and where, and then how often. You can have a lawyer with you if you want, but it isn't necessary since you're the one reporting the crime." He looked at the sheet again. "Do you want to tell me or someone else?"

Roger shook his head. "Anyone." Then it occurred to him that they said he could have a lawyer present. They hadn't mentioned family and friends. "W-would it be ok if Mark stayed with me?" he asked. This would be a lot harder alone.

The sergeant blinked, then checked his procedure book. "Yeah, that's fine. Let's go in back to one of the more private rooms. It'll be more comfortable, and then you don't have to tell a bunch of private stuff where anyone can hear you." He stood up and indicated for Roger and Mark to walk through a half door into the area behind the counter. He then picked up an ancient tape player. "You mind if I record your statement? I don't write so fast and then you don't have to repeat everything for me."

"That's fine." Roger sat down. "Just tell me where to start."

The Sergeant sat down opposite Roger and started the tape. "This is Sergeant Michael O'Ryan. The date is November 23, 1993. Please state your name for the record." Roger stated his name and spelled it out as well. "Just tell what happened. How did you meet the accused, Robert Evans?"

"We dated," Roger admitted. "After a while he started saying that I should... that if I really loved him I would, you know, let him do things to me. So I did. It hurt and I told him to stop and he didn't. I'm not sure if that counts. I moved in with him after my parents kicked me out." He had said this all before, to Mark, so it wasn't too difficult. When Mark hadn't heard the story, it became more difficult. "He... he told me... he made me let him do things all the time. I told him not to but he wouldn't stop. It... um..." He sighed and shook his head.

Sergeant O'Ryan stopped him for a moment. "What do you mean by things?" he asked.

"Sex mostly. Or... uh... sucking..." He didn't know how to put it into words properly.

"Do you remember the date when he first had sex with you?"

Roger shook his head. "I'm sorry. I know that... I was fourteen... no. I was thirteen. The day before my birthday."

"How many times would you say you had sex from that first time until your seventeenth birthday?"

"I don't know. Probably hundreds. He um. He basically, he, he, um, ah... well, he liked sex. But things weren't always bad. He had really good periods when we would be happy. Last summer for example. We barbequed and had campouts on the porch and he said he loved me. But he was scared I would abandon him, so I wasn't allowed to go outside."

Sargent O'Ryan flipped a page and added 'Forced confinement' to the list of charges. "In the three years you were together, did he let you leave the property at all?"

Roger shook his head. "Not until a few weeks ago. I had to see a doctor."

"Were you able to contact anyone in that time? Your family, for example?"

He shook his head again. "He... he kind of... um... he said they wouldn't want me. You can only hear that so many times..."

Mark took Roger's hand and squeezed it. He didn't let go. Sergeant O'Ryan went back to the list of questions. "Did he injure you physically in any way?"

"Only if I deserved it." Roger knew that Robert hadn't made the best life choices, but...

"What do you mean by deserved it? What actions would provoke him?"

"Just, just basic stuff. And it was only when he was in a bad mood, when things were good he didn't, but sometimes..." Roger took a deep breath and thought back. "Okay. If I did something stupid like burned dinner or starting crying during... um... intercourse, he really didn't like that. Or the time I, um, I called-- somebody. He really didn't like this person and... I shouldn't've..." He was afraid to tell too much. Roger knew he was bad, but if he told the police would they think he had deserved what he got?

Sergeant O'Ryan tried to remain calm and get through the interview. He knew that he couldn't show any emotions or give any opinions until he was finished, but he was already appalled about what this poor boy went through. Unfortunately, if he tried to offer comfort, that could be misinterpreted on the transcription and result in the statement not being admitted. "What kind of injuries did he cause, and were these documented anywhere?"

"Well he... there was a burn." Roger rolled up his sleeve to display the scar. He pushed his sleeve up further. "These are from a knife from the kitchen. I have some scars on my back. Mark-- he's a doctor-- he said my arm has been broken a few times."

Sergeant O'Ryan made a note. "I need to photograph the scars, and could you sign this release for your medical records to be opened?" He left the room and came back with a camera and took the pictures of the scars. He then went back to the interview questions. He had exhausted the main ones for statutory rape, but moved onto a list of domestic violence related ones as well. "In general, how were you treated? Describe a typical day for you."

"It... depends. I tried to keep the place clean. I like things clean, and he hates messes, so it worked pretty well. He came home around 6, so that's when I had dinner ready. We ate... well usually. Sometimes I had been bad, so I didn't eat. Assuming we're talking about bad days, sometimes he watched TV and got drunk. He watched sports, so I only watched if he asked me to. I watched cartoons and stuff during the day. Then we usually had sex and went to bed. Again, unless I had been bad, then I might sleep on the floor or outside on the porch. But he only put me on the porch if things were too dangerous for me inside," Roger added. This part was very important to him. The porch was protection, not punishment.

"Can you explain about things being too dangerous?"

"Sometimes Robert couldn't control himself. He's... he's not well, mentally, and he doesn't like his medication, but if he knew he would be dangerous--violent, angry--he would put me on the porch so I was safe."

The police officer made a few more notes, then looked back at Roger. "Is there anything more you wish to add or explain further?"

Roger shook his head. "That's a good sample of information, I think." He didn't want to or feel the need to go into all the details. It had been unpleasant enough the first time.

"When did this end?"

"About two weeks ago, after I moved in with Mark. I--" Roger began, then paused. "I saw Mark for a broken arm. He fixed it, but he thought something was wrong. He gave me his number and I called him once, but then after he called back I... I was punished. For calling Mark. Robert really hates him. I loved Robert-- I thought I did-- but I got scared. I broke out of his place and went to Mark's."

Mark decided he needed to interject something here. "When he arrived at my place, he wasn't wearing any clothes. It was that really rainy night two weeks ago."

Sergeant O'Ryan nodded. "Is that true? Did he often take your clothing away?"

"W-- well--" Roger looked between him and Mark, not sure how to answer. "Only when there was a reason."

"A reason?"

"Like... so I couldn't leave."

"How often would that happen, and why would he do that?"

"I don't know. Not very often. He was scared I would leave him... I didn't think I would."

The sergeant realized he had one more point he wanted to clarify. "You said that you were punished for calling Mark. What was this punishment and why were you so scared?"

"I was afraid that he wasn't in control of himself anymore," Roger said. Given that Robert was in control of him, that was a terrifying sensation.

"The punishment?" O'Ryan reminded him.

He sighed, angry with himself. Roger had hoped to avoid explaining this. "He put me in the shower and turned on the cold water," he said.

"And then..." the police officer prompted. He knew there had to be more.

"No and then. He tied me there and left."

"How long did he leave you for?"

"It felt like a long time."

O'Ryan had nothing further to say, so he ended the tape by stating the time. Since Mark was in the room, he signed a document stating that he had witnessed the interview, and Roger signed one saying the testimony was freely given.

Mark shook O'Ryan's hand. "What happens now?" he asked.

O'Ryan said, "I'll send this to one of the stenographers and have it transcribed. Then it will go to a grand jury and they'll determine if we have enough evidence to charge the bastard with anything. Personally, I think we do. I've seen people arrested on less. You should be hearing from us in a day or so."

Mark thanked the officer and he and Roger left the station.

Roger walked close to Mark, closer than societal standards allowed. He didn't care. Mark made him feel safe, and safe was where he wanted to be. Part of Roger was sure he had done right by turning in Robert. Part of him knew that now, another boy or man wouldn't be lured, fall in love and become Robert's plaything. But there was another part of Roger, and this part of him was worried. This part of him still loved Robert.

He wanted to ask, in a small voice, We did the right thing, right? But instead he settled on what he knew was right, his own way of saying thank you, showing his appreciation as best he could: "If they arrest him then... then we'll do the x-rays as soon as there's time. If you still want to."

Mark lay his arm across Roger's shoulders. "As soon as he's not at work, we'll get it done. I'll make time for you. I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you." Roger didn't know if he meant for the x-rays or the pride or the support or all three at once. "They'll probably arrest him, right?" he asked.

Mark nodded. "From what you said in there, they probably can charge him with more than statutory rape, but that's the easiest one to prove. I just don't know when they'll make the arrest."

Roger nodded to show he understood. "Th-they wouldn't... have to talk to my parents, would they?" he asked, nervous. He didn't want his parents knowing about what had happened to him.

Mark frowned. "I really don't know." He hugged Roger again. Then a thought came to him. Roger had given his real name in the station. "Roger, do you think your parents would have reported your disappearance to the police when you first moved out?"

"I-I don't know," he admitted. "They... my dad told me to leave. But we were fighting. I don't know." He wanted to think his parents would have looked for him, but he had no proof of that.

Mark tried to pick his words carefully, because he had just thought of a possible consequence of reporting Robert. "If they did, the police may contact your parents to tell them they've heard from you."

Roger went cold. It was like the blood had just drained from his body. "B-but... they... they're... w-would they, they wouldn't... tell my parents?" he asked, hoping it was true. His parents couldn't know. It would kill them.

Mark really didn't have an answer. He wasn't aware of police policy or anything. "I don't know, Roger. Maybe that's something we could ask the lawyer. I'll call him when we get home."

"I don't want them to know," Roger said softly. It would be better for them to think he was just a total jerk than to know.

Mark could understand that. Roger didn't want to appear weak or a victim, even though what he went through was not his fault. "I know... but if they did find out, I don't think they'd blame you. You weren't the one who did anything wrong."

"If they found out..." He knew he must pick his words carefully. The thought never crossed his mind, that his parents might be angry with him--for leaving yes, but for what happened with Robert, no. It would hurt them. They cared about him. They would be hurt.

He changed the subject. "If I go out--is that okay? If I leave you a note or, or call you and tell you where I've gone?"

Mark nodded. "Yes, I'm not going to keep you locked in the house. Just let me know where you're going and when you expect to be back. Then I know whether to worry or not." He wanted Roger to feel free to come and go as he chose.

"Okay." Roger didn't tell Mark where he had intended to go, partly because he wondered if Mark would ask. Just how much freedom did he have? Roger wanted to know, and the only way he could think to find out was to test those limits.

Mark got to the car first and opened the locks. He had to warm it up and scrape it off again. The snow had continued when they were in the station. Once they had the car cleared and they were on the road, Mark tried to bring up the subject of Roger's family again. "You know, you may want to call home and talk to someone there before the police do. At least talk to Adam and see if there was a report filed, just so we can know what to expect."

He considered that. Adam would know, any of his siblings would, but that would lead to questions he didn't know how to answer. And Adam asked a lot of questions. "Maybe I could call when they aren't home," he whispered. It was awful... but a message on the answering machine was better than nothing, wasn't it?

Mark nodded. "You should do that before I call the lawyer. You never know when the police would call them. I won't hide you from them, but I'll make sure they respect your wishes when it comes to contacting you, OK?"

"Ok," Roger whispered. How had he come to this, hiding himself, too scared to see his own parents? Roger stared out the window at the blurs in darkness, wishing he could disappear. He had done this. When time came to parcel out the blame, he had done this. He let Robert do things to him. He left home. This was of his making and look how it hurt those around him. Everyone.

Mark knew Roger was having a rough time, so he reached over and grabbed his hand and held it for the rest of the way home. They didn't say anything until Mark pulled into the driveway and they entered the house. Mark indicated the phone. "Do you want me to leave you alone to make your call?" he asked.

"It's all right if you want to stay," Roger told him. He honestly did not mind. Having Mark there might make this easier, and he certainly had no secrets from Mark by this point. He picked up the telephone and dialed his parents' number. By the second ring, Roger's face was flushed red.

"Hello?"

He winced. He had been hoping no one would answer. Roger's throat was dry. He forced himself to swallow and managed, "Adam? Um, it's, it's Josh. Is Mom or Dad there?" Adam replied that they were and without asking went to find them.

"Hello?" said Roger's mother. "Who is this?"

Roger didn't know what to say. He clutched the receiver tightly, like she might go away. He was sweating so hard the grip was awkward. "Mommy?" he whispered, almost below her hearing.

"Joshua?" Her voice was laden with disbelief. "Joshua? Is that really you?"

Roger nodded. "Yes," he managed. He was surprised to find that he was crying, and his throat was thick. He sank to the floor, still clutching the phone. "It-- I-- how are you?" he asked, then couldn't stop a sob of laughter at the inane question

Annie Feinberg's eyes started to overflow with tears at the sound of her missing son's voice. "I–I've been better," she admitted. Her voice was wavering. "Joshua, where are you? Where have you been? I've missed you so much!"

"I'm okay. I missed you, too, Mommy." He'd stopped calling her 'mommy' when he was ten years old, and suddenly the name was back and he could think of no alternative. "I'm staying with Mark Cohen, remember Mark?"

Annie did remember him, considering they had been at the Cohens' for dessert last week. "Yes, the doctor, right?" She swallowed a lump in her throat. "Have you been there all this time, Joshua?"

"No. No, just since two weeks ago, I... please don't ask, Mommy. I'm okay now."

Annie brushed the tears from her eyes. The 'now' implied that he hadn't been okay before, but she didn't want to push it. "Can I see you, Joshua? Do you want to come home?"

"I... I don't know," he admitted. "After all that's happened..." He couldn't go back to living at home, and he knew that. There would be questions he couldn't answer and too many people wanting all of him at once. He would need to go to work or school, and he wasn't ready for that. "Maybe I could meet you somewhere?"

"Yes, that would be good. When and where?" Annie's heart broke a little that her baby boy didn't want to come home, but at least he wanted to see her.

"A-anywhere. Maybe we could meet for lunch or something?" he suggested. He knew his parents could take time off work when needed--his father was a lawyer and his mother a doctor in private practice, both able to take breaks if needed.

"How about TGI Friday's at one tomorrow? That used to be your favorite." It would be fairly easy to schedule a break at that time.

Roger smiled that his mom remembered that. He had gone through a cheeseburger phase when he was about six, eating cheeseburgers any time they went out, and his dad always teased him for picking TGI Friday's as his favorite. He didn't know that he could stomach a cheeseburger at this point but he didn't care. His parents hadn't forgotten him.

"Okay, Mommy. Do you think... do you think Daddy will want to come?" He was almost afraid to ask. He'd said some pretty awful things the last time he and his dad spoke.

"Of course he would. He misses you, Joshua. He's been beside himself since you disappeared."

"Is he still mad at me?"

"No, honey. He was at first, but when you didn't come back, he was heartbroken. He'll be very happy to see you."

Roger nodded. "Okay. Okay, I'll be there. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. I'm so glad you called. It was an answer to my prayers." Annie wiped a tear from her eye and tried to keep her voice steady. "I prayed every night that you'd return to us."

"I can't come home," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Mommy. I love you. I want to see you, I hope you still want to see me..." He needed a lot of space, and in a family of six...

Annie sniffed. Again, she felt like an arrow was piercing her heart, but at least her son was back in her life. A half-hour ago, she hadn't known if he were alive or dead. "Of course I want to see you! And you know you'll always be welcome at home if you ever do wish to return."

Roger knew that tone. He knew she wasn't happy. "I'm not who I was," he whispered. If only, somehow, he could erase the last few years and be her little boy again, he would.

Annie tried to respond to that, but the words wouldn't come. After a few false starts, she managed to speak, her voice wavering with the words. "I–I'll still l-love who you've become."

Roger had to put the phone down for a moment and cry, shaking. No, she wouldn't. And she seemed to know that she wouldn't. When he finally picked up the phone again his mouth was a mess of snot and spit. "I-I have to go now, Mommy. Mark needs to use the phone. I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"

"Yes, Joshua. I'll see you then. Thanks for calling." She was about to hang up but quickly added a whispered "I love you."

"I love you, too," he said, then hung up. He went into the kitchen for a moment and washed his face, but he couldn't stop crying. He returned to the living room for a moment and stood, sniffling, trying to wipe his face on his hand. "I wanna hit myself," he murmured.

Mark stood up and took Roger into his arms. "Thanks for telling me. I know that was hard for you. You didn't do anything bad, though. Your family is going to be very happy to see you again." He kept Roger in his embrace and rubbed his back in soothing circles.

Roger pressed himself close against Mark and cried onto him. He wished he could think of a way to stop hurting people, but everything he did caused more and more pain to those around him, those he loved. "They want me to go home," Roger whispered, "but I can't go home, I can't go back, Mark, I'm sorry for the position this puts you in..."

Mark knew the situation would be awkward, but made a commitment to keep Roger's best interests at heart. He wondered briefly if Roger's parents could legally force him home, since he was under eighteen. It was another question he would have to speak to the lawyer about. He added it to his mental list. "Roger, my main concern is you. I know your parents may get angry at me, but I'm on your side. I'm there for you, understand?"

Roger nodded. "Uh, uh-huh," he stammered. He wiped his mouth on his hand. Later it would occur to him to be grateful. Now he just wanted to sit down. "Mark… Mark, do you want to do something silly?"

"What?" Mark asked, not understanding what Roger meant. Something silly?

"Why don't we just, sit down and have cookies and hot chocolate? Like normal people on a cold night?" Roger looked down. "Does that sound dumb?"

Mark smiled. He reached out for Roger's hand. "That sounds wonderful."

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger checked his reflection in the mirror and tried to remember what he had looked like four years ago, and if his mother would recognize him. He had tried to appear as good was possible, as healthy and wholesome as possible. He had even gelled tied his hair back so it didn't look like he was hiding--which he often was. And so, sitting there with ants in his pants, he watched the door for his mother's arrival.

Annie entered the restaurant and scanned the room for her son's face. She was nervous. She hadn't seen her baby boy in such a long time that she was afraid she wouldn't be able to tell who he was. Her eyes went from person to person in the restaurant. Too old... wrong colored hair...there! He was sitting alone, hunched over at a table. He was taller than she remembered, but she realized he must have had a growth spurt. The hair was different, too. And his eyes were completely different. They seemed harder, colder somehow. She waved off the hostess and headed towards her son. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. "Joshua?"

He looked up. The experience was completely different: she was precisely as he remembered. He stood and put his arms around her. That felt different. He remembered hugging her and being smaller than her. He was taller now, and she felt frail.

"Oh Joshua!" The tears flowed freely as she returned the hug, just eager to hold him in her arms again.

"It's okay," he said. He really wasn't sure that it was, but could think of no other way to ease her pain. He just stood, holding her.

Annie didn't want to let go. Something in her mind told her that if she could hold him forever, Joshua couldn't disappear again. But she realized that people were staring and she didn't want to make her son feel any more uncomfortable than he already must have been feeling. She let go of him and indicated to sit down. "You've gotten so tall," she commented.

He sat. "I grew a little," he admitted, almost apologetic. He couldn't look at her. Everything he had done... why had he not called? He could have just picked up the phone and... "How are things at home?"

She smiled. "Adam's in college and doing well. He really settled into his studies. Sarah's loving high school. She's on the volleyball team and is in the drama club, too. Your father's practice is doing well. He wanted to be here today, but couldn't cancel a meeting with one of his clients. As for Sasha... well, she misses you. A lot."

Roger nodded. "It... it sounds like everyone's doing great." He couldn't help the rising taste of bile in his mouth. Ordinary people living ordinary lives, the kind of life he would have had if he hadn't thrown it away. Roger knew he had made a bad lifechoice and took responsibility. It still hurt like bitch. "I'm sorry Dad couldn't come."

Annie nodded. Jakob had tried to get out of the meeting, but, unfortunately, it was with one of his biggest clients, a man who believed the rest of the world revolved around him. "He tried to make it, honey. He still wants to see you, all of them do."

Roger just nodded, unsure how he could say anything in response. "I'd like to see them too," he murmured. That seemed right, and he did want to see them. Slowly. One at a time. "How have you been?" He had worried most about her, a pediatric psychiatrist treating other people's children and unable to help her own.

"I'm okay," she said quietly. And she was. At first she had been a wreck, desperately trying to find her missing son. Then came the bouts of depression, but she recognized her need to talk to someone and found a good therapist. Between her sessions and the medications she was taking, she was doing okay. She just didn't want to go into detail. "And you? How are you?"

"I'm fine," he told her, which he truly thought he was at this time. He was stable. He could even go outside sometimes. "I've been thinking about correspondence school."

"That's wonderful. You always did very well in school." Absent-mindedly, she played with the menu, not sure of what to say next.

"Yeah." Like that word doesn't surmise everything lost in his life. The waitress came by. When she asked what they want she's so perky Roger experienced an emotion he has suppressed so far he didn't feel it for years: anger. What right of her to be happy?

Annie almost thanked the waitress for relieving the tension. She placed her order for a burger and side salad, then turned to her son. "Joshua, it's my treat today, so order what you want." It was a small thing, but it made her feel like a mother again. She was able to provide food for her child.

Roger ordered a cheeseburger and french fries. "Thanks, Mom." He didn't really have that much money. Mark had allowed him to borrow some, he seemed not to mind, but Roger preferred not to spend it. He didn't know what to say after that. "It's... almost Christmas." Jakob's father wasn't Jewish, so the family celebrated Christmas.

"Yes, it is." She hesitated for a moment, then decided it was worth the risk to ask. "Do you think you can celebrate with us this year? It would mean a lot to everyone."

"Yeah. I... I'd really like to be there. If that's okay." Family Christmases had probably adapted to disclude him, Roger supposed.

"Of course it's okay. You're family Joshua. You've never stopped being a part of the family." Annie blinked back a few tears. After a few minutes of silence, she ventured another question. "Where were you?"

He paused. Could he really tell her...? How, when he didn't even understand himself why he never picked up the phone? "Please don't ask me that."

Annie looked at the pain written across his face and was sorry she asked. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you," she said. "I kept imagining you lying left for dead in a ditch, or locked in a room somewhere all bruised and broken. I just want to put my mind at ease."

"Yeah. You're not too far off." The waitress brought their drinks and Roger realized how dry his throat was. He drank his soda thankfully, because his mind was slowly realizing that he now would tell his mother everything

"What do you mean?" Annie asked before taking a sip of her iced tea. "What happened to you, Joshua?"

"The, uh, bruised and broken thing," he says. "Mark thinks I might have Stockholm Syndrome," he adds, then shrugs. "I dunno. We reported him."

Annie nodded. "Good. I'm glad you reported him." She took another sip of her beverage, suddenly wishing for something a bit stronger. "Was it him... you know that man you were seeing when you disappeared?"

Roger nodded. "Yeah. Him." He kept drinking, not totally unfamiliar with the feeling of needing something a touch stronger.

Annie wished she could go back in time and protect her child, but that was impossible. She had to look forward and do what she could now. An idea popped into her head. "Um, if you wanted someone to talk to, I could set that up for you. I have contacts that work with people who've been...hurt like you have."

Roger shook his head. Until he was eighteen, he couldn't tell anyone he didn't trust absolutely. He knew any psychiatrist would run to his mother at the drop of a hat, especially those who were her friends. "I'm not sure that would work," he murmured. "Thank you anyway."

"The offer's there if you ever need it." The waitress brought their meals and for a few minutes they picked at their food. Annie decided to try another subject. "So what's this Mark like?" she said with a smile. She wasn't too sure about Joshua dating another older man, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, for now. After all, he did go to temple, so he couldn't be all bad.

It was a much better topic for Roger, and he answered easily. "Mark's great. He's helped me a lot. We go to temple every week." He knew his mother would like that. A Jewish doctor who went to temple, was there any greater conquest?

She was a little surprised to hear this, but then rationalized that he probably wasn't ready to face her or the rest of the family. Even alone with only her, he was awfully on edge. "I'm glad you're going to temple. I always liked the Cohens. He is treating you right, I hope."

Roger nodded. "Yeah, he's really fantastic. He gave me a place to sleep, Mommy. I showed up unannounced in the middle of the night and he took me in. He bought me clothes, feeds me--well. I feed him. He can't really cook," Roger explained, apologetic.

She smiled at that. "Well, we all can't be perfect." She ate a few more bites of her salad. "He's not... taking advantage of you or anything." She couldn't help but be suspicious, especially after his last boyfriend.

"You mean sex? No." He ate French fries as quietly as one can eat french fries--which is not very quietly at all--and said, "I'm not a virgin, Mom."

She blinked at his frankness. "I... guess I already knew that. I just want to protect you. I feel like I failed before."

"You didn't fail me, Mom," Roger said. "You did everything a mother should do for her son. You loved me, you encouraged me to do all the right things. It's not your fault I fucked up."

"You didn't fuck up, Joshua." She kept her voice even and made sure she didn't cry. He needed to hear this. "It wasn't your fault. If anyone's to blame it was that jerk that lured you away. That's why I feel like I failed. I didn't protect you from him."

He shook his head. "What could you've done, Mom? You told me not to see him, I didn't listen. I paid for something I did."

"I don't know... but it's not right that you had to pay so high a price." She wiped a tear away. "Look at me. I should be happy that we're having lunch together, and instead I'm leaking like a faucet."

"Oh, come on, Mom. We both know you'd never let a faucet drip," he teased, trying to lighten the mood a little.

Annie laughed a little. "You're right. I never would." She continued to nibble at her salad. "Um, I don't know if you heard, but Sasha's been having some problems."

"Mrs. Cohen mentioned something about that. She didn't say any details," Roger admitted.

"She wouldn't know all the details." Annie swallowed. She didn't want to go into too unpleasant things, but she thought that Joshua had a right to know.. "After you disappeared, she was in a bad way. She got really depressed for a while. She locked herself in her room, wouldn't speak to anyone. It went on for quite a while. And then, last year, she had to be hospitalized after taking a whole bottle of sleeping pills."

For the first time, he looked straight at her. "Hospitalized where?" he asked. He needed to know if they were talking about a hospital for people's bodies or if they just assumed his sister was crazy.

"Bellevue, in the city." It was hard to talk about it, but again, she thought that Joshua needed to know. "She was there for about six weeks, or so. They let her out after getting her stabilized using medication, and we found her a good therapist. It would do her wonders to see you again."

Roger considered. He didn't want to see her with his mother, because he wanted things to go back to the way they had been at least a little, which meant a lot of obscenity and punching. "She going to Cleveland or Carter?" he asked, naming the two nearest high schools. Carter was closest. There was a private school not too far away but he and Sasha had always been critical of private schools. But people change.

"Carter. She's a senior. The teachers were very considerate and let her take the exams late." She picked some more at her salad, but really wasn't eating it any more. "Will you come see her? I'll pull her from class and we can go to the park or something. You don't have to go into the school."

Roger started to protest, then he nodded. He couldn't do that to her. "Okay. That sounds good."

Annie was about to call for the check but realized she had forgot a family ritual. When the kids were young, they always had sundaes. "Do you want a sundae?" she asked Joshua. She wasn't really hungry but the familiarity of the question calmed her a little. She was really tense.

"I'm not sure I could eat a whole sundae," he said. He hadn't been eating as much lately as he had the last time she saw him.

"Me neither. I just thought I'd ask. I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten or family tradition." She made a motion for the check and got out her credit card once the server brought it to her.

"Of course you haven't, Mom." He slipped his knife off the table. He wasn't going to use it or anything... didn't plan to anyway. Just holding it, feeling it there, that's all, that's all he needed.

Annie caught the motion out of the corner of her eye. She briefly wondered what kind of defenses and coping mechanisms her son had developed, but didn't say anything. As a mother, she wanted to make sure the meeting ran smoothly so she could see Roger more often. It wasn't worth the risk to question him. She was about to tell him more about Sasha when her beeper went off. She fished it out of her purse and checked the number. "Excuse me, Joshua. I need to call the office." She went to the back of the restaurant where she had spotted a pay phone earlier.

Roger put the knife back on the table the moment his mother was out of sight. He just needed to feel metal on his skin sometimes, but the dull thud made his stomach twist. He dunked his napkin into his water glass and put it on his forehead. This was too difficult. He couldn't see Sasha. He wanted to go home. He wanted Mark.

Roger put the wet napkin on the back of his neck and forced himself to take deep breaths.

Annie spoke only briefly with her receptionist but realized she needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. There was an emergency with one of her patients and she had refused to speak with the psychiatrist on duty. Joshua would have to wait to see Sasha. She quickly returned to the table. "I'm sorry Joshua. That was the office and I'm needed at the hospital. I can't bring you to see Sasha today. We'll have to do it another time."

"All right," Roger agreed all too readily. He dropped his sopping napkin on the table. "I hope everything's okay." He stood and slipped on his jacket. "Can you spare enough time to give me a ride?"

Annie put on her long coat. "Of course I can. Where are you staying?"

"With the Cohens' boy, Mark." Roger assumed his mom knew where that was. She always seemed to know the temple women, although she struck him as less gossipy. She was a therapist, after all.

They headed for the door. "I think I know where he lives. Chestnut Street, right? I'm just not sure which house."

Roger nodded. "7317. I'll point it out..." He searched the lot for her car.

Annie pointed. "We got a new car last year. It's the red Toyota."

"Oh." He headed for it and wondered if he had ever seen her driving around in it and simply not known which car was hers. Shaking his head, he headed to the passenger seat. He was old enough to drive but didn't know how.

Annie started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. She felt she should say something. "It was really good seeing you again, Joshua. I've missed you a lot. We all have."

"I missed you, too, Mommy," he whispered. He leaned his cheek against the window. "I just... it wasn't easy..."

"I know honey. I'm just glad you're back in my life." She made a turn, then another. "You know you're always welcome at home, even if you don't want to stay for long." She made a few more turns and ended up on Chestnut Street.

Roger shook his head. "I don't think I can belong there anymore," he said softly. He wished he could say that without hurting her. "It's just that... I couldn't..."

Annie blinked back a few tears. She understood, but it hurt that Joshua had changed so much. "Could you at least visit sometime?" she asked.

"Of course I will. I just... need a little time," he tried to explain. He shifted awkwardly. Talking to his mother was one thing. His dad was the one who had shown him the door and instructed him not to come home.

"I know." She slowed the car as the house numbers climbed past 7000... 7100... 7200... "What was the house number again, Joshua?"

"7317," Roger replied. "There." He pointed. "Did... did Dad say anything...?"

Annie nodded. "He said to tell you he misses you and loves you. He wants to see you."

Roger nodded, processing it. He wasn't sure how to feel about that information. "It's just 'cause... he... I didn't know if he would forgive me..."

Annie reached out towards her son and awkwardly enveloped him in a hug. "He forgave you a long time ago. He blames himself for your disappearance."

"He'd let me come home, though?" Roger asked. To his surprise he felt a touch of anger. "I'm still gay, you know."

"I don't think his biggest problem was you being gay. Yes, it hurt when we found out. We both had ideas in our minds that you'd one day get married and give us grandchildren. He doesn't like that you think you're gay, but he will eventually learn to accept it. No, the problem all those years ago was you kept wandering off to spend time with your boyfriend to the point you were neglecting everything else: your studies, your chores, your family."

Roger sighed. They weren't going to fight now, were they? But he couldn't help it! He had so much anger pounding inside his head. "My grades were fine, Mom. I did my chores, maybe a little late but I did them, and I didn't spend any more time with Robert than Adam did with his friends! And just because gay people can't get married doesn't stop us adopting or having surrogate children, either."

Annie was taken aback at how bold her son had become, but then realized he had made some valid points. She'd talk to Jakob later about them. She glanced at her watch and realized she needed to get going. She addressed Joshua again: "Listen, I don't want to fight with you since I just found you again. I know there are things that we'll have to work out later, as a family. Just remember, we all love you and want you back. Oh dear. I really need to get going."

He winced. But then... of course. He couldn't expect to be any sort of priority; he'd given that up when he left. He hugged her and kissed her cheek. "I love you, Mom," he told her quickly, then opened the door.

"I love you, too, Josh. Call us tonight, ok?"

"Okay," he promised, then hopped out of the car. He shut the door and waved to her, then headed towards the house. She always waited, when he was younger, to see him into a friend's house before leaving. He wondered if she would do the same now.

Although she hadn't done it in a year or so, Annie decided to wait a moment to make sure Joshua entered the house safely. She watched him fumble in his jacket for keys and struggle to turn the lock. Once he had the door open, she honked and waved, but still waited for her youngest son to disappear into the house before she left. She wanted to watch over him as long as she could.

Roger turned when she honked and waved back. Then he went into the house, shut the door behind him, and locked it.

He immediately began to panic. Roger knew he had come in with his key, that the door had been locked, but he began to worry... what if someone else had come in... he hadn't been here all day...

Methodically, Roger checked every single room in the house, his heart hammering harder and harder each time he discovered an empty room. He whimpered softly. He was sweating. Surely he had found no one because there was someone he had missed. But he was too scared to look again. Instead he crept into the laundry room and hid himself, waiting to come out until he heard Mark's voice.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated_


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

At five o'clock Mark arrived home. It had been an eventful day at the office. Mark hadn't expected Robert to turn up for work, but he had. He was in his usual bad mood, but no more hostile than usual. The morning passed uneventfully. However, around one thirty four uniformed police officers had shown up at the clinic. Since his receptionist had called in sick, Mark had the dubious pleasure of sending them to the X-ray room. A few minutes later, they returned, escorting a very angry Robert with them. Robert managed to get out a few derogatory remarks aimed at Mark on his way to the door, which earned him harsher treatment from the police. He couldn't wait to tell Roger that Robert had been arrested.

"Roger?" he called. Roger didn't respond. Mark frowned; that wasn't normal for Roger. Usually he arrived eagerly when Mark called. "Roger? Where are you?"

Roger jumped and inched out from his hiding spot behind the washing machine. He was sore from staying in one position all afternoon, and it hurt a bit to move, but he managed, slowly first but gaining speed as he climbed the stairs. He peeked out. Yes, it was Mark. Roger emerged. "Hi."

"There you are! I've got some good news for you. Robert was arrested this morning."

Roger smiled shakily. He glanced behind him. No one. He shut the door to the laundry room, but that didn't make his heart stop pounding. "That's... good news," he agreed.

Mark smiled and wrapped an arm around Roger. "I'm glad they didn't wait. You should have seen the look on his face when the police got there. He wasn't too happy with me, I can tell you."

"H-he knew it was you?" Oh, that wasn't good. That was not good. If Robert knew Mark had anything to do with this, then Mark wasn't safe. It was that simple. Roger gnawed nervously on his thumbnail.

Mark shook his head. "I don't think so. He was mad because I pointed the police in the direction of the X-ray room. He's never liked me, so he just used me as a scapegoat, I think." He thought for a moment then decided to change the subject to get Roger to relax a little. "So what did you do today?"

"N-not much." Roger realized then that he hadn't cooked, or even though about cooking. "I didn't make dinner," he said. Roger immediately headed towards the kitchen.

"That's ok, Roger. You don't have to cook. Do you want to go out or something?" Mark had gotten used to Roger's cooking and was a little surprised that he hadn't cooked, but figured everyone needed a day off. He must still be affected by the trauma of going to the police.

Roger shook his head. Not outside. He was safe here. The idea of coming home at night terrified him. "Maybe... we could... g-get pizza or something?" he suggested tentatively.

Mark smiled. "That's a great idea. What toppings do you like?"

"Anything. What's your favorite?" Roger wasn't just saying that. He did like all toppings--he was after all a teenage boy with a teenage boy metabolism.

Mark suspected as much, but that did not stop him asking, "Are you sure you don't have any favorites, Roger?"

Roger shook his head, but he murmured, "Pineapple and mushrooms."

Mark smiled. "I'll just order the works, then. If that's ok?" He went to place the call then came back to Roger. "It will be here in half an hour." He sat beside Roger on the couch. "What shall we do in the mean time?"

Roger shrugged. He inched closer to Mark, fighting the urge to cuddle up and bury his face against Mark's side. "We could watch television?" he suggested. "Or play a board game?"

Mark made a motion for the remote control. "Let's see what's on tonight. I haven't sat and watched TV for a while."

Roger retrieved the remote and handed it to Mark.

"What do you feel like? News? Sports? Cartoons?" He started flipping channels pausing briefly on each one before changing to the next.

Roger shook his head. "Anything."

Mark put the TV on a news program and they watched in silence for a few minutes. After a story about President Clinton's foreign policy and another one about university libraries linking their networks together, the program turned to local news. Mark had a sinking feeling about this.

Roger shifted. Surely there couldn't be anything... right? Who would-- there wasn't even enough information, it wasn't a good story... He took a deep breath. Of course not. Of course.

Mark shuddered as the reporter started the next story. Even before they said a name, Mark knew it was about Robert. He looked over at Roger.

Roger had gone rigid. He was staring at the screen. "It's not me," he whispered. It couldn't be. That wasn't possible. Real people weren't on the news. The news was about other people. People in big cities. Strangers. "It can't be."

Unfortunately it was about Roger. They didn't mention him by name, but the story gave enough details to make even Mark uncomfortable. They gave Robert's name, occupation, and home town. They mentioned Roger's captivity and the treatment he received at Robert's hands. It made Mark feel uncomfortable. Worst of all, they mentioned that Robert was putting pressure on the courts to speed up the trial.

"Are you alright, Roger?" asked Mark.

Roger shook his head. He felt dizzy and sick. "I need to call my parents... make sure they didn't see that."

Mark nodded. "That's probably a good idea. Do you want me to give you some privacy?"

"It's okay if you want to stay." Roger knew it was Mark's place and he had to respect that. He picked up the phone and dialed his parents' house.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Mark went to collect the pizza and brought it into the kitchen. He really didn't feel like eating any more, so he left it in the box and put it in the fridge. They could reheat it later. It only took a minute and Roger was still waiting for his family to pick up when he returned.

"Hello?"

Roger sighed. "Hi, Ad. How are you?"

"Casual conversation. He's evolved!" Adam teased.

"Did you see the news tonight?" Roger asked. He held his breath, hoping the answer was no, hoping they hadn't... After all, Adam sounded so normal. No one could see a program like that, learn such things, and still sound normal.

"Do you want to talk to Mom?" Adam asked softly.

Roger pressed a hand to his forehead. They had seen it. "Yeah, please."

He head, as though from a distance, "Mom, Roger's on the phone!"

Then, in his mother's chiding tone, "His name is Joshua, Adam--"

"He wants to be called Roger--"

"Just give me that!" Annie's couldn't hide the rawness in her voice when she reached the phone. "Joshua..." She started crying again. "Is what they said true? Did he really do all of that to you?"

Roger nodded. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't want you to find out about it; I never thought it'd be on the news. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. We're sorry you had to go through that. It was Robert's actions and Robert's fault, not yours."

"Is that how Dad feels?" he asked. He was afraid his father would take the opposite approach, _that's what you get for being a homo._

"Of course! He knows that you didn't ask to be treated like that."

"It's also why... why I can't come home, Mom. I can't... let them... see me like this. Dad and Sasha and Adam."

"They still want to see you, Joshua. Sarah too. They don't think less of you for it."

"I'll... I will try," he promised. "I really wanted to keep this from you, Mom, I really tried."

"I know, sweetie, but you don't have to protect us. I'd much rather know the truth." She sniffed a bit. "I love you. We all do."

"I love you, too." He glanced around and couldn't see Mark. Roger's chest constricted. "I need to go, Mom. I'll talk to you soon-- you know the number, don't you?"

"Yes, Adam gave it to me this afternoon. He looked Mark up in the phone book, sweetie; we all miss you. I'll call tomorrow or the next day, alright?"

"Okay. I love you. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Joshua." And with that, she hung up the phone.

Roger put down the receiver. "M-Mark?" He peeked into the kitchen.

"I'm in here, Roger. I put the pizza in the fridge. After seeing the news, I didn't want feel hungry any more."

Roger shook his head. "Neither did I." He moved closer. "Maybe just bed?" he suggested.

Mark nodded. "I feel like turning in early. Tomorrow's going to be hectic at the office." He started to make his way up the stairs and to the bedroom.

Roger followed. He was still very nervous about someone in the house, someone who didn't belong there. He knew there was no one, but he remained very uncertain. He followed Mark into the bedroom and locked the door, something he hadn't done before. Then he pulled off his jeans and crawled into bed.

Mark stripped down to his boxers and slipped into the bed behind Roger. "Why did you lock the door?" he asked.

Roger moved one of Mark's arms around him and held his hand. "I'm scared all the time," he admitted softly.

Mark moved his other arm around Roger to tighten his grip on the younger man. "That's understandable. I'm here to protect you tonight."

* * *

Roger woke early the following morning. He hadn't slept well, so waking wasn't difficult. Feeling somewhat groggy, he crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom. He took care of things there, then headed downstairs. It was halfway down the stairs that the panic hit, but Roger pressed on. He made it to the kitchen and started making breakfast.

Mark stayed in bed a little later than usual and woke to the pleasant sounds of Roger cooking in the kitchen. He showered quickly, dressed and then went to the kitchen. "Good morning, Roger." He sat down at the kitchen table. "I was hoping you'd come with me to the clinic today."

Roger immediately winced, but he calmed when he remembered--_Robert won't be there. It's okay._ He set a plate of food in front of Mark. "Okay."

Mark thanked Roger and began to eat. He noticed that Roger was more edgy than usual. "Are you OK, Roger?" he inquired.

He nodded. "I'm fine," he said. He nibbled at his breakfast. "What do you want to do at the clinic?"

"Well, I'm going to need to get X-rays of your arm to make sure it's healed properly. Then I want you to have a full physical and blood work. You're overdue for some of your vaccinations, so we'll get you those. And if you're willing, I'd like for you to talk with one of my colleagues for a few minutes." He tried to gloss over the last part, but he really wanted Roger to talk to someone. He was concerned about the anxiety that Roger had displayed in the last day or so.

Roger nodded. All of this made good enough sense to him. He wasn't crazy about needles, but Mark was a doctor, so Roger trusted him. He agreed. "What does your colleague do?" he asked. "I-is he... a specialist in, in STDs or something?"

Mark couldn't lie to Roger. "No, not in STDs. We'll test you for those, too. I know you've only had one partner, but we're not sure about Robert. No, my colleague is a specialist in psychological trauma. I just want to make sure you're handling everything alright. I only have a bit of knowledge in this area, so this is more for my reassurance."

Roger nodded. Luckily, he was not impacted by the usual social concern that going to a therapist made him crazy. His mother was a therapist and he knew therapists were okay. Besides... this was Mark. He automatically agreed. "I'm just gonna go get dressed," he said, but didn't move, a little nervous about being alone.

"Do you want me to come with you?" He wondered if this aversion to being alone was anything to be concerned about.

Roger hesitated, then he nodded. "Would that be okay?" he asked. It didn't seem intrusive to him at all.

Mark smiled. "It's fine. I don't mind." They went up to the bedroom and Mark sat on the bed. "Is this anxiety new or has it just gotten worse in the past couple of days?" he asked as Roger changed his clothes.

"I don't know..." Roger changed quickly, not wanting to hold Mark up. "I just get scared. It's been especially bad since I saw my mom, I guess." Like as soon as he left the house, it mutated. It stopped being the home he knew.

Mark nodded. "Make sure you mention that to David. He may be able to help you overcome the fear." Mark went to the adjoining bathroom to brush his teeth, but left the door open. "Rog, I'm trying to decide what to do about your tests. Some of them are quite… physical. Do you want me to do them or would you prefer someone else?"

Physical? Roger wondered what the meant. Was this like a running and testing your heart kind of physical test, or did he mean invasive? Either way... "You, please."

Mark nodded. "Alright. I'll make sure I'm in charge of all your tests." He checked his watch. "We should get going. I have a couple of appointments scheduled for the late morning, so I want to make sure we finish before they arrive."

Roger nodded and headed for the door. He wasn't eager for these tests. What if something was wrong? If he was sick? He didn't want to be sick. If he was, he didn't want to know, just let me live out the bliss of my ignorance, please and thank you.

Mark followed Roger out the door and then paused to lock it behind him. He didn't say much until they were on the road to the office. "Do you have any questions about what's going to happen today, Roger?"

He shook his head. "It's just... basic tests, right?" he asked. "Like any other doctor's appointment?"

Mark pursed his lips, not certain what to say. He felt that Roger may need to prepare himself for certain tests. He decided with telling the truth without sugar coating it too much. "Well, yes, but there are additional tests. I'm going to have to check you for any damage that Robert may have done."

"You mean psychologically?" Roger asked. The thought of being damaged there didn't occur to him.

"That too... I'm going to have to check your rectum for scarring or any other damage. Given the court case, they're going to need you to have an internal exam." He kept his eyes ahead on the road, not daring to look at Roger.

Roger felt sick. He hadn't thought about his body in those terms. He thought about having an ass and fucking. Nobody has a damaged ass. You can have a bruised ass, a sore ass, but rectums get hurt and damaged. Your rectum can have cancer. He shivered. "Oh," he said softly. Suddenly he could feel his rectum, aware of it in a way he hadn't been before.

Mark tried to reassure him. "I'll be gentle and go as quickly as I can and still be thorough," he promised.

Roger nodded. He tried to appreciate it, but all he could think about was his rectum and what was wrong with it. He needed that particular part of his body. Even if he never had sex again, he needed his rectum, but it was... broken.

Mark remained quiet for the remainder of the drive to the office. When they got there, Mark ushered Roger into his private office. They would have to wait for the X-ray technicians and nurses to arrive to do some of the tests, but Mark was in no hurry to get started. "Do you want anything to drink?" he asked in an attempt to delay the more personal questions.

Roger shook his head. "No, thank you." He didn't feel well enough to drink or eat anything. In fact he was having enough trouble keeping his breakfast down. "Should you start...?"

Mark nodded. It was better to get this over with. "I'm going to start by asking you some questions. I need you to answer truthfully. Some of them we've already covered at home, but I still need to ask you and write down your responses. Are you ready?"

Roger nodded. "Is it ok if I sit down?" he asked.

Mark smiled. "Of course." He gathered a pad of paper, pens and a typed sheet. He wanted to make sure he followed protocol to the letter. Any mistakes could mean implications at the trial. "I have a list of things I need to ask you, but first I want to give you a chance to talk to me. Is anything physical bothering you?"

Roger sat on the patient's side of Mark's desk. "My arm still hurts sometimes," he said, assuming Mark was asking to make sure he was thorough.

Mark made a note on the paper. "We'll check that later. I was wondering if it was. Anything else?"

Roger shook his head. "Nothing else."

Mark let out a sigh. Now it was time to ask the more uncomfortable questions. For a moment, he wished he could get someone else to do this, but Roger had wanted him. He tried to ground himself and use his "clinic" persona. "What kind of sexual activity were you engaged in?" Mark winced as the words came out. "Sorry. That's the phrasing on my list. I need to know where he penetrated you, and if he wore a condom."

Roger looked away. He felt himself blushing. Suddenly the places that had been, as Mark said, penetrated, and the places Robert had touched, ached. He shook his head. "Not always." That was in reference to the condoms. "My mouth. And my... um..."

Mark blushed as well. This was so much more difficult with someone you cared about. "...your anus?" he asked.

Roger nodded. His blush was so hot it hurt, and he had to struggle not to cry. He'd thought he was okay, but this, he just couldn't take it.

Mark tried to compose himself as he continued the questioning. "Would you say he was forceful? Did you notice any pain or bleeding following penetration?"

"Yes... yes," Roger said, answering both questions.

Mark made note of these answers. "Following the event or events, did you experience any of the following symptoms: sore throat? Discharge around the penis? Difficulty urinating?

Those were easier, mostly because of the answer: "No." His jaw had been a little sore, but mostly from his mouth being open so long.

"Sores, rash or warts around the genital area?"

He shook his head. "No, nothing like that."

"Unusual infections, weight loss or unexplained fatigue?"

He shook his head. "I... I did lose weight, but..."

Mark made a note of that. "Do you know why you lost weight?" he asked.

"I wasn't eating," Roger explained.

"That does explain weight loss. And we only have a few more to go... did you experience any recent pain during intercourse or when excreting waste?"

"After a while..." Roger rubbed the desktop. "After a while it hurt all the time."

Mark blinked. "Does it still hurt?" he asked quietly.

Roger nodded. "Mostly, uh, in the bathroom," he said.

Mark continued to make notes. He had reached the end of his questions. "That's all the questions on my list. The blood work will tell us about STDs and HIV/AIDS, but I'm still going to need to do a physical examination." He reached into a closet and pulled out a gown. "Could you change into this, please? Opening in the back?"

He nodded again. Suddenly the idea of being alone wasn't so bad, but Roger wasn't ready to be naked in front of Mark. Suddenly Roger was ashamed of his body. He said nothing, though, just stripped and put on the gown.

It only took a few minutes for Mark to complete the exam, in spite of the tension that Roger was experiencing. Mark's actions were confident and gentle, and he soon had all the information he needed. He handed Roger a second gown. "I've done the worst part, but I'm still going to give you a more traditional physical. You can put your underwear back on now."

Roger nodded. He picked up his boxers and stepped into them, shaking. He hurt everywhere, and it took most of his self-control not to cry.

Mark guided Roger to the examination table and listened to his heart and lungs, tested his reflexes and weighed him. He made all of those notes in the chart as well then guided him back to the desk. "If you want to, you can put on your street clothes again. I can get the X-rays and blood tests while you're wearing those."

Once more he nodded and mutely dressed himself. Every exposed inch of skin made Roger ache with shame. He zipped up his sweater and jammed his hands in the pockets.

Mark disposed of his gloves and washed his hands, glancing over at Roger. He wondered how long Roger had been suffering in silence. He gestured for Roger to sit down.

Roger did, but he didn't like it. Sitting just drew more attention to his bottom. He blushed so hotly his face hurt. He knew Mark was just doing his job, but having someone's fingers there wasn't what he needed.

Mark sighed again. "You know, all things considered, you're in fairly good health. A little underweight, but not malnourished. I am worried about what I found internally, though. There's some minor scarring, but it shouldn't bother you too much. You do have a number of unhealed fissures though. That's what's giving you so much trouble in the bathroom." Mark looked down at his notes, and realized he had forgotten a question. "When was the last time you had sex?"

Roger thought for a moment. "I guess... the night I showed up at your place. Maybe the night before," he said. He wasn't sure what a fissure was, but he knew what "unhealed" meant. Mark's tone put him at ease about that, though. He didn't seem to consider it serious. "I'll get better, right?"

"Oh yes. We'll start with a round of antibiotics and topical creams. They should do the trick. If there's no improvement we can take further action."

He nodded. "Okay. Am I finished, can I go home now?"

Mark shook his head. "We need to wait for the X-ray technicians to check your arm. Plus you still need the blood tests. Everyone should be here in a couple of minutes."

Roger went rigid. He shook his head. "No... no..." He couldn't have x-rays, he just couldn't. Even though he knew Robert wouldn't be there, it was all he could think of. Robert would see him. Robert would be angry.

Mark walked around the desk and put a hand on Roger's shoulder. "He's not going to be there, Roger. I really need to make sure your arm is alright, and I need X-rays to do that. I'll be there if you need me."

Roger's hand shot out. He was clutching Mark's arm before he could think. "Don't leave," he said softly. Mark would make everything all right.

"I'm right here." Just then, he heard the voices in the hallway. "It sounds like everyone else has arrived. Let's go down to X-ray now."

Roger nodded. He stood, shoulders hunched protectively, and followed Mark.

Mark guided him into the X-ray room and held his hand while the technicians arranged the injured arm on the film. It didn't take too long, and the films came out correctly on the first try. He held Roger's hand as a nurse drew blood for the other tests. When they were done, he led Roger back to his office while he looked over the X-rays.

The entire time, Roger burned. He didn't need his hand held, need to be led around like some child! ...right? He was going to let go of Mark's hand. He really was. Except that Roger's fingers would not relax. "Does it look ok?" he asked, as Mark looked at the x-rays.

Mark studied the X-ray and frowned a little. The bones seemed to be healing properly, but there was some irregularity in the areas where the tendons attached. "Hold your arm out straight for me, please."

Roger stretched his injured arm out from his side, holding it as straight as possible. It didn't occur to him to just do what was comfortable: he looked at his arm and told it to be straight.

Mark noted the tension on his face before looking at his arm. When Roger held it out as straight as he could go, he noticed that it twisted slightly. "Is it hurting you to do that now?" he asked, and Roger promised it wasn't.

Mark looked at him carefully. There was something about the way Roger set his jaw that told Mark he was lying. Mark decided not to call him on it. A lot of his patients didn't want to admit that something hurt. "I need to see your range of motion with it. First do arm circles with your arm straight, then bend and straighten your arm at the elbow, and finally make small circles with your wrists, ok?"

Roger nodded. He clenched his jaw. Bending at the elbow was easy enough, because he had been doing that often, but the circles burned. He didn't let it show. Ok, he was weak, he had been weak, but he wasn't going to be a pussy.

Mark noticed that Roger's face grew even more tense as he attempted the exercises, but tried not to concentrate on that. He watched as he made a large arm circle. It wasn't as flexible as he would have liked, but most disturbingly, the twist he noticed earlier became more pronounced when Roger moved the arm to the front. "Hold it out straight again, please."

Roger held his arm out straight once more. After the arm circles, this was very easy and comparably painless.

This time Mark ran his fingers along the muscles and tendons of the arm. The wrist felt fine, as did the forearm. However when he started feeling the ligaments near Roger's elbow, he had to stop. He felt a slight ridge where there shouldn't be one and the whole joint felt off to him. His studies had allowed him to recognize there was a problem, but he wasn't sure if he could treat it himself. "I feel something off near your elbow," was all he could say at the moment.

"It's ok," Roger assured him. "It works-- I can use it fine." He went easy on his left arm, the injured one, but that wasn't a problem... right? Plenty of people had a favored side.

"No, I don't think it is." Mark frowned a little. "It looks like some of the tendons are in the wrong position. You already have some minor range of motion problems and I'd hate for them to get worse. You could inadvertently do some major damage by moving the wrong way. Not to mention the fact you're still growing and the tendons may interfere with your bone growth if we leave them like this."

"It works fine," Roger insisted. "It doesn't hurt, it... I can use it..." He wasn't sick, wasn't malformed. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him! He just needed to deal.

Mark put on his best "clinic face" again. "Fine is a relative term. You may be used to a certain level of discomfort and therefore feel 'Fine' but really are in a small amount of pain. I'm also concern that if you don't get further treatment, you may be limited in what you can do with that arm. And there's the possibility that it can get worse and then be too difficult to fix later on."

Roger sighed. He knew Mark had the stronger case, facts and tests. He only had a flimsy lie. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

Mark gave a half smile. "No, you don't. I'll set up a referral to a real orthopaedist. This is a bit beyond my expertise. In the mean time, I want you using the brace again."

"And... and that's it?" Roger asked. "Wear the brace for a few weeks, then I'm ok?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure. I can give you a few exercises to try to see if they help, but you may be looking at surgery to relax the tendons. Don't quote me on that. I'm not current on the latest orthopaedic treatments. There may be something new the specialist could try."

He nodded. "What about... um..." Roger lowered his eyes. "The, uh, fissures?" he asked.

"Although painful, they shouldn't bother you too much longer. I'm writing you a prescription for a topical cream that you can apply once a day, and I'm starting you on antibiotics since I suspect you may have a mild infection. For the time being, I recommend taking a warm bath at night and getting more fibre in your diet to help ease the discomfort. You shouldn't be penetrated for a few weeks since that tends to aggravate them further."

That, at least, sounded painless. Baths and vegetables... Roger could handle that. "H-how did it happen?" he asked.

"Do you know what a fissure is?" asked Mark. When Roger shook his head he explained. "It's a tiny little breach or tear in the rectum. Most likely it's from forceful sex, but it could be other things as well, such as a foreign body or a really hard and sharp bowel movement or other trauma. They're actually fairly common."

That at least Roger understood, but it was still uncomfortable to consider. The idea of multiple buttholes made him uncomfortable, it just did. He shifted. "So I'll be all right," he surmised. "It's not a big deal?"

Mark smiled reassuringly. "No, it's not a big deal. The biggest risk is infection right now, but that's what the antibiotics are for. I'm sure you'll be feeling better within the week and be back to normal down there a month at the latest."

"Okay. Thank you." He was relieved. Maybe if he could shift Mark's focus, he would forget all about Roger's arm. "So no one is going to... stick their fingers in my butt again?"

Mark shook his head. "I shouldn't have to, barring any complications, but that's not likely." Mark paced around the office for a minute or two. "My colleague, David, should be here soon to talk to you. If I leave you to check on some patients in the treatment rooms would you be alright with talking to him for a while?"

Roger nodded. "I guess that would be ok," he said, as subtly as possible looking around the room. He needed something with which to defend himself, should it come to that.

"Feel free to talk to him openly and honestly. I realize your mother is a child psychologist, too, but David won't repeat anything to her. He's pretty adamant about doctor-patient confidentiality."

Roger nodded. He understood. He didn't even know the names of his mother's patients; he wasn't too concerned. It wasn't that he worried about.

Mark glanced at his watch and then shuffled some papers on the desk, making stacks and grabbing files. David would arrive any minute. He felt that Roger really needed a chance to speak to someone about his experiences and his fears. Mark wasn't sure what to do to help Roger heal emotionally. It was beyond his expertise and like he had done with Roger's arm, he deferred to someone more knowledgeable.

Roger shifted on the chair. He sat on the edge of the seat. There had to be something here he could use just to keep himself safe, just in case. There were tissues and cotton swabs... the swabs were in a glass jar, he supposed in a pinch he could use that.

Just as Mark looked at his watch to check the time there was a knock on his door. He opened it and invited the newcomer into his office. "Roger, this is my colleague, David Solomon. I'm going to go check on some other patients while you two talk." He gathered his files and pens and left the room, closing the door behind him.

When Mark turned to open the door, Roger grabbed a tongue depressor off his desk. It wasn't much (he wished for a scalpel), but it would do. He slipped it up his sleeve, past the ribbed cuff, where it would be safe until he needed it.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? Reviews are my life (reviews and, you know, classes... homework...)  
_


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Mark squeezed Roger's shoulder. "Feel free to talk to him openly and honestly. I realize your mother is a child psychologist, too, but David won't repeat anything to her. He's pretty adamant about doctor-patient confidentiality."

Roger nodded. He understood. He didn't even know the names of his mother's patients; he wasn't too concerned. It wasn't that he worried about.

Mark glanced at his watch and then shuffled some papers on the desk, making stacks and grabbing files. David would arrive any minute. He felt that Roger really needed a chance to speak to someone about his experiences and his fears. Mark wasn't sure what to do to help Roger heal emotionally. It was beyond his expertise and like he had done with Roger's arm, he deferred to someone more knowledgeable.

Roger shifted on the chair. He sat on the edge of the seat. There had to be something here he could use just to keep himself safe, just in case. There were tissues and cotton swabs... the swabs were in a glass jar, he supposed in a pinch he could use that.

Just as Mark looked at his watch to check the time there was a knock on his door. He opened it and invited the newcomer into his office. "Roger, this is my colleague, David Solomon. I'm going to go check on some other patients while you two talk." He gathered his files and pens and left the room, closing the door behind him.

When Mark turned to open the door, Roger grabbed a tongue depressor off his desk. It wasn't much (he wished for a scalpel) but it would do. He slipped it up his sleeve, past the ribbed cuff.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Solomon," Roger murmured.

"And you Roger. Why don't we get to know each other a bit? Tell me a little about yourself."

"Okay," Roger agreed, always the compliant one, but he didn't add anything more. What did he want?

"You could always start with your name, age and serial number," said David to break the ice a little.

"Roger. Seventeen." It occurred to him that he didn't feel like Roger Davis. It was just the line he gave, and for a while he fooled himself into believing it. When he saw his mother and brother again, though, he knew he wasn't Roger Davis. He wasn't Joshua Feinburg anymore, though, either.

"I noticed you didn't give me a last name. Why is that?" David wanted to see what Roger thought about himself. Some kids only volunteered the minimum of information as a means of control. Others wanted the attention off them as soon as possible.

"I don't really..." Roger shifted awkwardly, rubbing his wrists. "It's... I'm... It's Feinberg," he said. "I guess."

"You guess?" David repeated, hoping Roger would elaborate.

"I was born with it," he explained. "I-I used Davis for a while... my mother's maiden name."

"While you were away from your family." It wasn't a question. "How long were you away from them?"

"Three years," he supplied. "Maybe a little more." He shifted his arm and felt the tongue depressor. It calmed him.

Dave nodded. "Can you tell me about the time you were with...Robert was it? What were your days like?"

Roger took a deep breath. "Just... normal. Maybe a little like a housewife? I kept the house clean and did the cooking..."

"Do you enjoy doing that?"

He considered for a moment. "I like cooking," he said.

"What do you like about cooking?"

"Rhythm," he replied. He liked how his body knew the motions. He liked making things. "Food."

David nodded and made a note of this. "How long have you been at Mark's place now?"

Roger thought for a moment. He was honestly unsure, but he knew they had been to temple twice. "Maybe two or three weeks," he guessed.

"What do you think of staying with Mark? How is it different from being at Robert's?"

Answers leapt to mind. Mark respected Roger's personal space and there wasn't any sex, and he was never hit or locked outside or punished. But any of those answers made Robert seem like a twisted jerk. There had to be some difference.

"Mark has central heating," Roger answered finally.

"Is that a good thing?" David decided to humor him. Perhaps he could use 'central heating' as a starting point.

He nodded. "Especially when it's cold like this," he said, meaning the weather. It had been snowy lately. Roger loved the snow. Loved the cold, too.

"Is there anything you don't like about Mark's place?"

Roger shook his head. "I love staying with Mark."

"What do you love about it? Be specific."

Oh. Roger understood that. So anything he said, this guy would just assume the opposite was true about Robert. He wasn't stupid. Jesus, sure, Robert got a little out of control sometimes, but he had a good heart. He'd taken Roger in, hadn't he? Fed him, housed him, clothed him? Roger wasn't about to turn around and squeal him out.

"May I go to the bathroom please?"

David nodded and waved him towards the door. "Go ahead."

"Thanks," Roger muttered. He stood and left the room quickly. The restroom was small, but at least it locked. Roger locked the door, then sat in the corner with his head buried in his knees. What had he done? Oh, god. Oh... sure. Sure, sometimes, Robert was a little... mean, but, Roger wasn't easy to live with, he daydreamed and moped, fuck, he wouldn't've been punished if he had just behaved.

"Asshole." Roger smacked himself across the face. What had he done? Only put away the man who had taken him in when he had no where to go. That was his fair trade-off?

David waited several minutes for Roger. He knew the young man was agitated. He didn't really want to talk. His body language and non-answers told more. Roger obviously didn't want to say anything against Robert or Mark. He was eager to please, almost to a fault and probably feared negative consequences. He had noted some unusual postures and fidgeting. Roger wasn't ready to talk, but he needed to.

Ten minutes later Mark entered the office. "He excused himself to the washroom. I don't think he's going to talk to me for a while, but I want to keep trying. Maybe next time you could stay with him. He seems to trust you, for the most part."

Mark nodded. "It's worth a try. He does talk to me at night. He's got severe anxiety. I found him hiding in the laundry room the other day."

"I'll give you a prescription for some Adivan, but only give it to him if you can't get him to calm down. Make him tell you what he's feeling and try to get him to relax. The pills are a last resort. If the anxiety persists, we can discuss more extensive drug treatment, but I can't prescribe long-term medication without knowing him a little longer."

Mark thanked his colleague and scheduled another appointment where he could talk to Roger. When David left, he went to the bathroom and knocked on the door. "Roger?"

Roger looked up. He had deteriorated a lot. After a few minutes he had snapped the tongue depressor and scratched himself pretty badly. He gasped. Oh, god. "Just a minute!" He scrambled over to the toilet, yanked a ream of paper off the roll and dabbed up as much of the blood as he could and threw the paper in the trashcan. He was still bleeding, but he pulled his sleeve down to hide it, then wiped his eyes and opened the door.

Mark could tell Roger was in a bad state. His eyes were red, his nose was still running and he couldn't look directly at Mark. He tried to comfort Roger by putting an arm around him, but the younger man was entirely too tense to relax. He guided Roger to the chair in his office. "Dave told me you were done for the day. Are you alright?"

Roger nodded. His head was spinning--his entire body was spinning, lost and confused and pained. At least his rectum was. His arm burned pleasantly, but he felt he might be ill. He felt the sleeve of his sweater sticking to his arm. "I'm fine."

Mark wasn't so sure about that. Everything about Roger told him he was anything but fine. He was trying to think of something to say, but then noticed something red on the sleeve of Roger's sweater. "What's wrong with your arm?"

"N-nothing." Roger quickly moved his arm out of Mark's line of sight. Nothing wrong, nothing wrong, he was fine. He got what he deserved.

Mark reached over and grabbed Roger's arm and slid the sleeve up. There were deep gouges on Roger's wrist, not to mention a few splinters. "What did you use to do this?" Mark asked. It was obviously self-inflicted.

Roger flinched and looked away. Did it matter? He was obviously in trouble already. He let Mark hold his arm. It was already hurt, he didn't want to exacerbate it.

"Roger, I need to know. There could be toxins on the object."

Without looking at Mark, he slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out half the tongue depressor. He set it down on the desk.

"Thank you." Mark grabbed some sterile tweezers from the cupboard as well as some gauze and tape, and butterfly closures. "You're lucky they don't need stitches. Why did you need to do this?"

Roger shrugged. _Because I'm a dirty little bastard._ Because all he did was run away. He ran from home, ran away from Robert. Sooner or later he would just run away from Mark, no matter how much he liked life with Mark, liked Mark. He would just end up hurting him.

"Was it because I made you talk to David?" He cleaned the scrapes and started to pick out the splinters.

"No." It wasn't Mark's fault. It was Roger's.

After getting the splinters out, he started putting the butterfly closures along the cuts, then covered them with gauze and tape. "Roger, we'll have to have a talk about this later tonight, OK?"

Roger nodded. He would find some way to make Mark forget about this. Maybe he would do the laundry; if he did everything it would take a few hours and Mark would fall asleep.

"I still have a few more things to do around here. Then we'll get lunch and head home early, OK?"

"Okay," Roger agreed. He would go along with whatever Mark wanted.

Mark signed a few papers, placed orders for tests and started typing a few reports on his computer. He was concerned that Roger had felt the need to harm himself again, and felt that he needed to spend some time with him in a comfortable environment. He also wrote a memo to David to advise him of Roger's state of mind. He was just printing the memo when there was a knock at the door. "Come in," he called.

A professional, neat woman walked into the office. "Mark Cohen?" she asked, and when he affirmed his identity she handed him an envelope. "This is a subpoena from the district attorney for the trial of Robert Evans."

"R-Robert's trial?" Roger asks, suddenly attentive. She nods. "Oh..."

Mark took the envelope and read the subpoena. He had received them before and this one seemed pretty standard. There was also a form that ordered records pertinent to the case. He scanned this one as well, and then realized the date of the trial was listed for next week. "Is this date correct?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

Roger stood and went to look. That wasn't possible. Next Wednesday, it couldn't be so soon! Robert had just been arrested. What if they dismissed it altogether? He'd be out again. "T-they can't," he said. It had to be a mistake.

Mark sighed. "It's happened before in cases I was involved in. The defense pushes up the trial date hoping the victim won't be ready to testify. We'll make it work, Roger."

Roger opens his mouth, but he's cut off. It's just as well, since he doesn't know what to say. "Roger? You're Roger Davis?" the woman asks. Roger nods. "This is for you," she says, and hands him an envelope.

Mark kind of regretted using Roger's name, but realized that the district attorney would have found him eventually. At least now Mark could help him prepare for the trial. "I see the D.A.'s name on the summons but I don't have contact information. How do we get in touch?"

She gave him the address and telephone number for the district attorney, then excused herself and left the office. Roger sat down. He tossed his subpoena on the desk and brought his knuckles to his mouth. "Oh, god," he whimpered.

"I'm here for you, Roger. Let's go home and I'll make you lunch, OK?" Mark realized Roger was in no shape to go out to eat. He needed to be in a safe place as soon as possible.

He nodded. "Y-you don't... have to cook," he said. It was one of the few useful things he could do around Mark's house, and he didn't want to give it up.

"Who said anything about cooking? I'm heating the pizza we didn't eat last night." Mark tried to break the tension. "You can handle dinner tonight, if you want."

Roger smiled tensely. "I... think that would be ok," he said. He stood up. "Can we go now?"

"Of course." Mark handed Roger his jacket and put on his own coat. "Let's go home, Roger."

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? Reviews are my life (reviews and, you know, classes... homework...)  
_


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

On the way home Mark had a hard time concentrating on the road, so he drove a little more slowly than usual. "Are you worried?" he asked.

Roger nodded, then realized Mark was watching the road. He smiled. His throat was dry. "Yeah," he said.

"You realize that since you have the subpoena, you're legally obligated to appear at the trial. If it's too much to handle, we can get David to write you a medical exemption, but that weakens the case against Robert."

Roger didn't know what to say, but he knew Mark wanted him to testify, so he agreed. "I'll testify. He... he... probably won't get off, right?" If Robert wasn't in jail, he would find Roger and kill him. Roger knew he would.

"I'm not a lawyer, but I don't think he has a leg to stand on. My exam today proved you had sex before your last birthday, so he can't deny the statutory rape charge. I'm not sure what else they'll charge him with, though."

"But they can't prove I didn't agree," he said softly.

"They can prove that it was rough, though. And they can also prove that he hurt you in other ways. That broken arm couldn't have been caused by a fall. Plus with statutory rape, it doesn't matter if you gave consent. The fact that he had sex with you while you were underage is enough."

Roger nodded, but he felt sick. He had gone willingly to Robert's the first time. Oh, god, what had he done? "It's not his fault," he said quietly.

"Roger, the way the jury will see it, he was the adult and you were just a child. He made a decision to have a sexual relationship with a young teenager."

"No. It wasn't his fault. Oh, god." Roger covered his face with his hands as he started to cry. "Oh god I can't undo this!"

Mark reached over and took one of Roger's hands. Driving one-handed, he did his best to comfort Roger. "Roger, it's ok. You're doing the right thing."

Roger buried his face in his elbow. He didn't want to take his hand out of Mark's. "He didn't do anything wrong, he didn't!"

"Roger, he hurt you! Even if you feel you did something to deserve it, he didn't have the right to hurt you. You're still recovering from what he did to your arm. No one has the right to do that, no matter what you think you did."

Roger shook. He had ruined Robert's life. He didn't know how to make Mark understand that

"Roger, if he hurt you, he could easily hurt someone else. If you didn't report him, he may have done the same thing to another boy. Or he may have blown up at work and hurt someone there. You stopped him. You did nothing wrong."

He cried harder. "I didn't mean to be bad," he sobbed, "but it's not his fault!" He curled up on the seat. They would be home soon. He didn't know why, but he felt safe there.

Mark continued to hold Roger. "Roger, it was his fault. He made the choice to hurt you."

"No," he whimpered. He took in a shaky breath. "L-let's just go h-home."

"We'll be there in a minute or so." Mark turned onto his street and pulled into the driveway. He used his keys to unlock the door and ushered Roger inside. "I'll put the pizza into the oven, OK?"

Roger was still crying and shaking. "C-c-could you... nevermind."

"Could I what, Roger?"

He shook his head. "Whatever you w-want."

Mark was getting a little tired of Roger constantly deferring to him. "What did you want to ask, Roger?"

He flinched. "Would-you-come-and-lie-down-with-me-for-a-little-while-please."

Mark smiled. Roger had finally asked for something that he wanted. "Of course. Lunch can wait. Do you want to lie in the bed?"

Roger nodded. "Yes, please," he said softly, surprised that Mark would agree.

Mark followed Roger up the stairs to the bedroom and climbed into the bed after him. "Do you want to talk or just want me to hold you for now?"

"B-both, please," he whimpers. He wipes his face on his shirt. "Are you angry?"

"A little," Mark admitted, "but not at you. I'm angry that Robert hurt you and got you to believe such negative things about yourself."

Roger held onto Mark's hand tightly. "It wasn't his fault."

"It's not yours either."

"I went to him," he said softly. "I asked him to take me in."

Mark wrapped him in a hug. "You trusted him. He abused that trust. You did nothing wrong, Roger. He made the choice to hurt you."

"He didn't mean to," Roger insisted. "He couldn't control himself."

"He made the choice to be in the room when he couldn't control his actions, Roger. I acknowledge that there are certain personality disorders that make people go out of control, but they still make the choice to react to something, or to remain where other people are in danger. He could have easily left the room before he hurt you."

"He did," Roger insisted. "He did, Mark! When things got really bad, he put me on the porch so I was safe."

"If he did it those times, he could have done it all the time, Roger. Even if you do the worst possible thing imaginable, you don't deserve to be hit, punched, grabbed, kicked or raped. Your body belongs to you and no one else has the right to violate it."

Roger began to cry again. "I wasn't raped! I wasn't, I'm not a fucking pussy! I said he could!"

"You're not a pussy, Roger. You're very strong. Did you ever tell him that he could have sex, even if you really didn't want to? Or did he ever initiate without asking permission first?"

"W-well... both," he said. Wasn't that what you did when you were in love? "And sometimes it hurt, but... but he loved me..." he explained weakly.

"Roger, that means there were times you didn't really consent. Now it would be hard to prove in court, but essentially, he forced himself on you. You're not weak. He's so much bigger and stronger than you are. Did he threaten you if you didn't have sex?"

"W-why would he do that? I kn-knew what would happen."

Mark tried to be gentle. He didn't want to make a mess of things, but he needed Roger to see that Robert had violated him in many different ways. Only then would he start to heal. "Roger, what would have happened if you refused him sex?"

"He would get angry with me... sometimes he didn't want me in the bed, o-or, if he r-really wanted he m-might talk about m-making me l-leave."

"And you don't think that's coercion?" he asked gently. "The threat of not having a home?"

"Y-you pay your m-mortgage," Roger argued right back. "You w-work, and you p-pay your mortgage and s-so you have a h-home. It only m-makes s-sense."

"But my bank doesn't violate my body to pay my mortgage. And from what I understand, you did plenty of work to earn your keep. If I paid you for the work you do around the house, at the going rate, you'd be earning about three hundred a week. You gave Robert all of that work for free, that should have more than paid for any food you ate or space you took up."

Roger pressed tighter against Mark, clutching his shirt. "Boys don't get raped," he says, as fiercely as a sobbing young man can. He can feel the heat of Mark's chest against his forehead.

Mark cuddled him closer and rubbed his back. "Yes, they do, Roger. Boys do get raped. They're just less likely to tell anyone."

"It was my fault," he whispered. "He had to..." But he couldn't remember why, just that it was true.

"It wasn't your fault. He had no right to make you do anything."

"He loved me. I just wanted him to be happy," Roger insisted. "I tried to make him happy... I tried so hard."

Mark hugged him again. "I know you did. Even if he does love you, he still had no right to treat you like that."

"Can we just stay here for a while?" Roger asked. He just wanted Mark to hold him.

Mark pulled Roger's body even closer to him. "Of course. We'll stay as long as you need to."

Roger relaxed. After a while, he couldn't cry anymore. He slowly pulled away from Mark. "Thank you," he said.

Mark gave him a last little squeeze. "I'm here for you, Roger. You're not longer alone."

Roger smiled shakily. "I... suppose you don't want me to..." he said, and cast a meaningfully look at Mark's groin.

"Only if you want to, and you feel ready for it."

"I-I want you to be happy," he said, wondering if this was the same pathetic nature he had shown Robert.

Mark placed a gentle kiss on Roger's lips. "I'm already happy. I'm happy with whatever you're ready to give me. I'm happy that you trust me enough to talk to me about your past and I'm happy just spending time with you. Anything more is a bonus."

The kiss made him blush for reasons he could not identify. "I... I give really good head," he said. "If you want, I'd be happy to do that for you."

Mark kissed him again. "If you're sure..."

"I just want you to be happy," Roger repeated. "Do you want anything?"

Mark thought for a moment. Though he appreciated the offer, he wasn't sure if Roger really was ready for that yet. He'd have to take the initiative. "I want you to be happy, too. I want you to do what's right for you."

Roger didn't know what to say. He wasn't sure if Mark was asking politely for sex or what. He would of course have obliged, if only he knew what was expected of him. "Do you want, um, me to... do something for you?"

Mark was tempted to say yes. It had been a long time since he had a lover in his bed, but he knew that he would never take advantage of Roger's willingness. "I don't need you to do anything for me, Roger. However, if you want to do something, I'm comfortable with whatever you want to do. You're still setting the pace, remember."

Roger bit his lip. "I think I'll just go make us some lunch, okay?" he said.

"That would be great," said Mark.

Roger headed for the door. He hesitated. "If you do want to, um, do things to me, it's ok," he said.

"I wouldn't feel comfortable with that unless you tell me specifically. Do you want me to do something to you?" he asked.

"It doesn't have to do with that," he murmured.

"Roger? What do you mean?" asked Mark. It was a good thing that his hearing was sharp.

Roger looked at him. "I haven't..." he began, then blushed. "It's nothing."

Mark was very curious now. "You haven't what?"

Roger shook his head, blushing harder. "I-It's nothing." It was enough that Mark was sure he'd been raped. He didn't need to know this, too.

"It's not nothing if you said it. You know you can tell me anything," said Mark. He wanted to get Roger talking, even if he was embarrassed. He needed all the practice he could get talking about personal matters.

He looked at the floor, his shoulders hunched. "I'll tell you if you want me to," he said softly. "But please, please don't make me."

Mark was torn. He felt that this information may be important, if not to the trial, then to understanding Roger better, but he didn't want to cause Roger too much distress. In the end he rationalized that Roger wouldn't have the option of not speaking in the courtroom. "I think it sounds important Roger. Please tell me."

Roger felt heat rise. "I can't get it up anymore, ok?" he snapped. He had never thought he would lose his temper with Mark. He liked Mark, very much in fact. He wanted to get closer to Mark. But he couldn't handle this.

Mark was more surprised at the tone of Roger's voice than at the revelation. It was most likely a psychological effect and the blood tests he had ordered would most likely rule out anything physical. Actually it was a good sign that Roger showed some anger. Even so, he chose his words carefully. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I don't think any less of you for it."

"Nothing to be ashamed of!" he cried, practically laughing. "Only systematic emasculation, nothing," he said. He needed to move but had nothing to do and nowhere to go. He knew the moment he stepped outside he would lose his anger and be frightened again. Even now he was frightened. Mark could kick him out after this. "Sooner or later I won't even be human."

"Roger, you're still human. And there are ways to get through this. There are treatments we can look into. You're not any less of a man."

"In what way am I not?" he asked, unable to see it. "It's bad enough I'm a faggot, now I'm not even that, I'm a fucking pussy."

"Hey," Mark snapped. "We don't use those terms here." He couldn't help it. The word "faggot" made him flash back to his first year in med school. One of his professors was severely homophobic and tried to use Mark's sexuality as grounds for dismissing him from the program. He had failed, but ever since then, the term always put him on the defensive, feeling as though he had to justify himself.

Under normally circumstances that was enough to make Roger cringe and beg forgiveness. Now he was too upset. "What you say doesn't change anything," Roger replied. "It doesn't make me any less weak and useless."

"Weak? You're not weak. You had the strength to leave a bad situation with less than the clothes on your back. You had the strength to go down to the police station and stop Robert from doing this to someone else. You're one of the strongest people I know! And useless? Besides the cooking and cleaning you do, you've made my life better. I'm happier because of you!" By this time, Mark was almost crying. In that moment, he realized that his feelings for Roger went deeper than he suspected. It hurt him that Roger was so down on himself.

Roger hesitated. He went over and sat next to Mark on the bed. For a moment, he just sat there, then he put his arms around Mark's shoulders and hugged him.

Mark latched onto Roger and started to sob. He cried for Roger's lost self-worth and the pain and humiliation that Roger had been forced to endure. After a few minutes, his tears subsided. "Thanks, Roger." he whispered.

"You're welcome." Roger let his hands fall into his lap. "Can I stay home for a few days?" he asked weakly. It was partly going outside that brought him so low. When he went outside he was sure everyone saw him, and knew.

"That should be fine. We'll take it one day at a time, OK?"

He nodded. "Do you want me to make lunch?" he asked. Cooking was familiar, something he could rely on.

Mark realized Roger felt the need to do something useful. "Yes, please. I'm getting a bit hungry."

Roger nodded, relieved. "What would you like?" he asked.

Mark thought for a minute. He thought about the pizza in the fridge, but realized he wasn't in the mood for it. What he really wanted was his mother's chicken soup. "Can you make chicken soup?" he asked. It wouldn't be his mother's but it was comfort food.

Roger nodded. He could do that. "Would you come with me? If you want to?" he asked. He still didn't like being alone.

"Of course. Just don't ask me to cook!"

He smiled tightly and opened the bedroom door for Mark.

Mark led the way to the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools along the counter. For a few minutes he watched Roger get the things he needed from the cupboards and start the soup. He wanted to talk to Roger some more, but didn't know if he should.

Roger sauteed chicken and onions in a pot, then added tomatoes and broth. He added worcestershire sauce, sloshing it straight from the bottle. "Okay," he said. "It, it just needs to simmer for a little while."

Mark nodded. "Thanks. I need some chicken soup today. What should we do while we wait?"

"Whatever you want," Roger said. He couldn't think of anything he wanted to do, particularly. Maybe sit in the laundry room.

"I don't feel like TV or board games right now. Maybe I should call that lawyer about the trial?"

Roger's shoulders rose, and he looked at the floor. "Okay," he says softly.

Mark indicated that Roger should sit down on the couch and then went over to the spot where he had dropped his briefcase to retrieve the phone number. He brought the phone to the couch and sat next to Roger, placing his free arm around the younger man as he dialed.

Roger tensed. He pressed closer to Mark, listening to the ringing on the other end of the line.

After a few rings Mark heard the recorded message come on at the tone he left his message. "Hello, this is Mark Cohen calling regarding the trial of Robert Evans. Roger Davis and I received our subpoenas and would like to have a meeting to discuss our testimonies. We can both be reached at 555-1092 for the rest of the day or you can call my office line tomorrow. Thank you." He hung up the phone. "Some days I hate answering machines."

Roger was a little relieved. He hadn't wanted to talk any more about this. After Mark hung up the phone, he sighed in relief. "Y-you'll talk to him tomorrow," he assured Mark. Unfortunately that meant Roger would.

Mark sighed. "I know. I just want to know what we can expect. I've testified at trials before, but that was different. I barely knew the people. They were just patients. Once I was done, I didn't think about the trials. This time I do care. I'm not just giving medical information, I'm testifying on behalf of someone I care about." He wanted to add more but wasn't sure if he could say it, so it came out in a whisper. "Someone I love."

Roger stared. He blinked. Had Mark really said that? No one had told Roger they loved him in years. Even his mother felt the need to qualify her love. Even though you're gay. "Y-you do?" Roger asked, barely believing it. But then he paused and realized that Mark probably didn't mean him. He probably meant Robert.

Mark nodded and wrapped his arms around Roger. "I realized it upstairs. I love you, Roger."

Roger pressed his face against Mark's shoulder. "I love you, too," he said. "A lot. And that scares me."

"I'm scared too. I don't want to hurt, you."

"Mark? Do you think maybe we could eat in bed? Just tonight," Roger requested.

"Of course. We'll have to be a little careful with the soup, but that's fine." He almost made a joke about crumbs in the sheets, but didn't want to spoil the moment.

Roger bit his knuckle and nodded. He had actually made stew; he considered telling Mark this, but then decided to let it go. Soup and stew were close enough. Maybe Mark wouldn't tell. Or he would like it. Hopefully. "I should check on it."

"I'll come with you," said Mark and he followed Roger into the kitchen.

Roger checked the stew, stirred it and added flour to thicken it a little. "Does it look ok?" he asked, hoping this came up to Mark's expectations

"It looks great...Thicker than I expected, but that will keep us filled longer."

"I can thin it," Roger said quickly. He headed for the sink. A little water, that was all it needed.

"No, don't bother. It's less likely to spill when we eat it in bed."

Roger nodded, unable to shake the feeling that Mark was looking for excuses. "It's nearly ready."

Mark smiled. He was getting hungry. "Why are you so eager to eat in bed tonight?"

"I just feel safe there," Roger explained. He found some odds and ends of bread in the bread drawer, most of it free of mold but verging on stale.

Mark grabbed some extra large mugs from the cupboard. He figured they'd be easier to balance than bowls. In spite of the thickness of the stew, there was still potential to spill. He also grabbed some spoons and got the butter out of the fridge. "I can understand that. When I was younger, I used to build forts in my bed. Nothing would scare me then."

Roger smiled. "I did, too," he said softly. "Old bread is really good in stew. I don't like throwing things out," he explained.

Mark got some cans of pop out of the fridge. They'd be more portable than glasses. He also got two trays from a kitchen drawer. "My grandmother never threw anything away either. My father told me it was because she didn't have a lot when she was younger."

"Was she born before the Depression?" Roger asked. He supposed it was possible, and it would certainly explain any hoarding tendencies. He simply hated wasting food. He knew a good French dessert made with old bread and milk, then fried

"Yes, she was. A lot of my older patients are the same way. They'll send me checks in resealed envelopes or bring me samples in milk bags that were washed out."

"Mark? I'm sorry about... how everything went today," Roger said softly. He ladled stew into the mugs and covered the pot.

Mark rifled through drawers looking for napkins. "I know it was hard for you. Um, were you able to talk to David, or would you prefer someone else?" After Roger's revelation in the bedroom, there was no way that Mark would allow Roger to stop seeing a therapist, but he was willing to search for someone compatible.

Roger nodded. "He's okay," he said, even though he hadn't told David much of anything. "B-but do you think, maybe, that y-you could stay next time?" he asked, knowing there wasn't much of a chance. Still, he'd never know if he didn't ask.

"I'll have to discuss that with David, but I'm willing. As long as you do the talking and don't just hide behind me. And we'd have to fit it into both our schedules." Mark smiled. "And you won't be allowed to go to the bathroom until after the session."

Roger opened his mouth to ask if he could go to the bathroom before the session, then he realized what Mark was referring to and he smiled. "I... I guess that makes sense," he said, scratching at his arm. "I'd just feel better if you were there."

Mark led the way upstairs to the bedroom. "I'm wondering if the courts may make you talk to one of their psychologists... it's a possibility."

Roger followed him, clutching the steaming mugs of stew. He shuddered. "W-would you come with me?" he asked. Talking about everything with Robert was bad enough with Mark. Without him, Roger couldn't do it.

Mark nodded. "As long as they let me, and it does nothing to weaken the case against Robert."

Roger smiled. "Thank you," he said. In the bedroom, he set the stew on the table and crawled into bed.

Mark crawled in behind him, but sat up and took a mug of stew. "Mmm... this is delicious. I thought I wanted soup, but this is better."

"Thanks," he said, beaming. Roger took the other mug and the end from a loaf of bread. He pulled out the center, tore it into little piece and put them in the stew, then started to eat.

Mark copied his actions and found that Roger was absolutely right about old bread in stew. He ate in silence for a while, then decided to broach another sensitive topic. "Roger, you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, and I'm asking this as your doctor. How long have you been having... difficulty with... um... getting it up?"

Roger swallowed a mouthful of bread and stew. "A while," he said. "I guess maybe a year... Sex just isn't fun anymore. But, um, I can't do it on my own, either." He used the heel of bread as a scoop for stew and just focused on that, trying to pretend he was doing something else.

"Were you ever injured down there? Or have any other symptoms?" Again, Mark was almost positive it was a psychological problem or a reaction to all the stress Roger was facing. He just wanted to be sure.

Roger considered for a moment. He blushed deeply, but when he replied it was to say only, "No."

Mark nodded, but then furrowed his brow. He remembered some of the activities Roger had been forced to engage in. One of them may have caused an injury. Roger was obviously embarrassed. "After the trial, we'll look into it further. It could be your diet or trouble with your circulation, or stress or a number of different things. We'll get through this, too."

He nodded. "Okay," he said. He continued eating in silence. When he had finished, he waited until Mark was finished, too, then asked, "Should I go wash the dishes?"

Mark shook his head. "Just rinse them and put them in the sink. They can wait until tomorrow."

"Okay." He climbed over Mark carefully and picked up the mugs. Heading downstairs, Roger began to feel afraid, but he didn't say anything or go back to the bedroom. He made his way to the kitchen and quickly rinsed the mugs, then sprinted back to the bedroom. He crawled back into bed. "Hi, Mark."

Mark shuffled over and wrapped his arms around Roger. "I liked having a picnic in bed. I don't think I could do it every day, but it was fun."

Roger smiled, feeling better. He melted in Mark's arms. "Thank you for everything," he said softly.

Mark cuddled him further. "You're welcome. Thank you, too. You showed me what it means to be in love."

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? _


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger stood in the kitchen, gnawing his thumbnail. He had been cooking, but now everything was finished. Mark should be home soon. Roger glanced into the living room. He would glance outside, but he didn't like going near the window. What if someone saw him? Nobody knew where he was, and Roger liked things that way.

Mark sat at his desk putting the finishing touches on a report. The afternoon had passed quickly and his last three patients had cancelled, freeing him to catch up on some paperwork. He was almost finished and was planning to go home early, when he heard a knock on his door. "Come in," he called.

David entered office. "I hope this is a good time. I had some cancellations and I wanted to speak to you about Roger."

Mark nodded. "I had some cancellations myself. How did the session go with Roger?"

"To be honest, it wasn't all that productive. He was reluctant to talk to me and was really on edge the entire time he was with me. I'm actually surprised he didn't bolt earlier."

"I'm worried. While he was in the bathroom he scratched his wrists so badly that I needed to use butterfly closures. He's very tense and he doesn't want to leave the house. Plus the trial is next week, and he's expected to testify."

David furrowed his brow. "That's awfully soon. Did Roger seem willing to continue with therapy?"

Mark nodded. "I asked him if he wanted to stay with you or find someone else. He's willing to continue with you but wants to include me in the sessions. Is that alright?"

"It's unusual, but I'm willing to do so. When he's ready, you can stop coming. It may be good for him to have another session soon."

"He's really reluctant to leave the house. You're free now, right?" David nodded. "Would you mind coming to my house to work with Roger today?"

"No, I don't mind. I'll just follow you in my car."

The two doctors set off and soon pulled into Mark's driveway.

Roger had taken off the sling while he cooked. Surely Mark didn't mean he had to wear it all the time. How could he expect Roger to keep the house clean and have food ready, with only one arm? So Roger supposed Mark just wanted to see Roger wearing the sling. He set the table and set out the food--pot roast, asparagus and mashed potatoes. He loved cooking for Mark, because Mark seemed to love being cooked for.

When he heard the car in the driveway, Roger quickly put his left arm in the sling. Then he hurried into the laundry room. If whoever had come wasn't Mark, Roger could lock himself in there and be safe.

Mark opened the door and invited David inside. "Let me take your coat. Have a seat in the living room. I'll go find Roger." Mark was a little surprised that Roger hadn't met him at the door, so he decided to check the rooms of the house. He wasn't in the kitchen, so he climbed the stairs and checked the bedrooms and bathroom without any luck.

"Roger?" he called. "Roger, where are you?"

Roger unlocked the door and crept out of the laundry room when he heard Mark's voice. He smiled slightly. "Hi, Mark." This was one of his favorite times of day. Mark was home. Then he noticed David. "H-hi, D-dr. Solomon," he said, unconsciously backing up.

David smiled at the younger man. "Hello, Roger. How are you today?"

Roger rubbed his bad arm and he glanced around. "W-where's Mark?" He took another step back and his butt hit the wall. He yelped.

David looked at Roger in concern. Was he always this edgy? "He went upstairs, looking for you. I'm sure he'll be down in a minute."

Roger glanced around again. He saw Mark's coat and briefcase, but no Mark. Mark had intentionally left him alone with David. In the house. "I-I-I'd r-really like to t-t-talk to Mark." Mark had promised to stay with him in therapy. Hadn't he?

David decided to give Roger some space and walked over to the couch. "That's fine. As I said, he's looking for you upstairs." He sat down. "I'll wait for you two down here."

"Mark!" Roger yelped. He fled upstairs, trembling, and peered into all of the rooms until he saw Mark.

Mark was just about to leave the last bedroom when Roger came flying into it. He reached out and gathered him into a hug. "There you are, Roger. Are you OK?"

Roger clung to Mark with his good hand, shaking against him. "S-s-somebody's downstairs," he said.

Mark tried to soothe Roger by rubbing his back. "I know. David had some free time this afternoon so I invited him over here. He's here with my permission. He wants to talk to you again, and since I knew you wanted to stay home for a few days, I asked if he'd mind coming here."

Roger's trembling lessened. Still, he was disturbed. Mark brought David here? But he was trying to help. "Oh. Th-thanks. He c-can have dinner w-with us."

"Do you want us to eat first, then talk?" he asked.

Roger nodded. "E-everything's ready. I just need to set a third place."

"Go on and do that, then. I'd like to talk to David for a minute and let him know about the plan." They walked down the stairs together and Roger disappeared into the kitchen. He went over to David and sat next to him on the couch. "Roger's already prepared dinner and would like you to join us."

David nodded. "He told me he liked cooking. I take it we'll be doing a session after dinner?"

"Yes. I already told Roger that we'd talk together once dinner was over. I hope this doesn't interfere with any plans."

David shook his head. His partner, Jeff was out of town for a convention so he was actually glad he didn't have to return to an empty condo so soon.

"Good. Let's join Roger in the kitchen." Mark led the way.

Roger had managed to set an extra place at the table with one hand, so when Mark and David came in everything looked neat. He had even set out glasses of water, not knowing what everyone wanted to drink. He knew Mark had beer, but he didn't like to think about that, especially didn't want to suggest it. After all, there was milk, too.

Roger sat half a second after Mark and David. He tried to be as small as possible.

Mark started eating right away. The food was especially good and Mark could tell that Roger had put in a lot of effort on the meal. "This is excellent, Roger. You've really outdone yourself."

"It's very good," commented David.

Roger blushed, pleased but at first uncomfortable. Usually whenever Robert complimented Roger he wanted sex. Or he was making up for something. "Thank you," he said.

"How was your day today?" asked Mark in an effort to start up a conversation.

"Good," Roger replied. "I did the laundry... and w-watched some cartoons," he added. He supposed Mark would eventually find out, it was better to own up to it at first.

Mark smiled. "Which ones? I used to love cartoons."

Roger blinked. He wasn't in trouble? Mark wasn't mad? Maybe this was a trick. "The Simpsons," Roger said softly.

David spoke up. "Oh I love that show. It's so funny. Did you see the one where the kids went to Kamp Krusty?" he asked Roger.

Roger smiled. "I like that episode," he said. "Today I saw the one where Homer gets that hair solution and..." he trailed off, realizing that David didn't have a whole lot of hair. "Um... and he has the creepy assistant."

David laughed. "Oh I remember that one. Jeff teased me mercilessly when it first aired. I told him I didn't need any hair loss treatments as baldness is a sign of virility."

Roger's smile grew less nervous. He was starting to like David, if just a tiny bit. "I-is Jeff your..." But he didn't know what the proper word would be. David seemed a little too settled for someone with a boyfriend. Roger glanced at his fingers, trying to subtly see if he wore a ring.

David noticed this behavior and showed his left hand. He and Jeff did wear rings ever since their commitment ceremony in the spring. "Yes, he's my partner. We've been together for eight years now."

"Oh." Roger toyed idly with his food. "That's a long time. Good for you. What does he do?"

"He's a graphic designer for an advertising firm. He's away this week going to some expo on incorporating computer images in ads. I don't entirely understand it, but he's really excited about it."

"That's really interesting." He didn't understand much about it, either. He tried to eat something but he felt uncomfortable with David there. He sucked traces of potato off his fork. "You must be lonely."

David nodded. "It's not so bad when I'm working or visiting friends, but I feel it when I get home and he's not there. The place seems too quiet. Luckily he'll be back soon and he doesn't leave me alone all that often."

Roger was suddenly very glad Mark was there. He would probably panic if Mark left; he barely made it through the day. But then, normal people, he supposed, didn't panic when left alone. "How did you meet him?"

"My secretary introduced us. She and Jeff lived in the same residence hall at college and were close friends. When he came out to her, she thought we'd get along well. She was right."

Mark smiled at that. "I hope you gave her a raise or something."

David chuckled. "The union rules wouldn't let me, but I make sure to give her flowers every six months on the anniversary of when she introduced us."

"I guess... kind of the same thing happened to you," Roger said to Mark.

"How is that, Roger?" He didn't understand exactly.

"Well, you wouldn't've met me if it wasn't for Robert," he said, then he blushed. Maybe Mark didn't want to be with him for so long. That wasn't something Roger had thought about before.

"No, I wouldn't have." Mark thought for a minute. "I can't say I'm happy that he tore up your arm like that, but I am happy we met."

"I am, too," Roger agreed. He glanced at the others at the table. "Are you through? I'll clear." He took his plate to the sink, then returned and took his glass. Clearing that table with one hand wasn't easy.

David nodded. "Can I give you a hand?" he asked. He suspected that Roger wouldn't react well if he had started to help without asking.

"You don't have to," Roger replied quickly. He was taking Mark's plate. "But... I guess if you want to, that's okay. Right?" he asked Mark. It was Mark's house, after all.

Mark stood up. "I'll help, too. Between the three of us we can get everything done quickly." Mark let David and Roger clear the dishes away and he started wiping down the table.

"Do you mind drying?" Roger asked. He turned on the sink and started scrubbing the plates. He used the rough side of the sponge, going for intensity where he lacked dexterity.

"No, not at all. You'll just have to tell me where everything goes though," said David. They made short work of the dishes and in a few minutes the kitchen was clean.

Roger gnawed on his thumb. He had to go to therapy now, didn't he? He looked at Mark. "I can leave you two to talk," he offered softly, hoping they had other patients in common.

Mark shook his head. "I don't think so Roger. I'll be with you this time. David isn't going to bite and if you don't feel comfortable talking about something you have the right to say so."

He sighed. So much for Plan A. But this time he would have Mark, and Mark would make sure nothing bad happened. "No going to the bathroom?" he asked, smiling.

Mark came over and ruffled Roger's hair. "Not unless I go with you," he teased.

Roger was surprised that he was still smiling. "Living room?" he suggested. The kitchen seemed an awkward place for therapy.

This time David answered. "Wherever you feel the most comfortable."

That was the bedroom or the laundry room, but Roger didn't want David in those places. "Living room," he repeated.

Mark followed Roger into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. David took the chair across from them. Mark could sense Roger's tension so he slipped an arm around him and slowly rubbed his back in small circles.

David got out a notepad and pen and watched the interaction. He noted that Roger seemed calmer now and sat in a more open position. In the previous session he had his arms crossed and tried to make himself smaller. He wasn't sure if it was Mark's presence or the setting that made such a difference. "OK. Roger, let's start. Is there anything that you want to talk about in particular today?"

Roger shook his head. He appreciated everything Mark had done, and he knew that he should participate as much as possible. He relaxed and focused on the feeling of Mark's hand on his back. "Anything you think will help," he said. He didn't know how to make himself better. Hopefully this man could help. He was a professional. That was his job. Right?

David gave him a gentle smile. "Let's go back to the beginning. Tell me about your family."

"Okay. Um. My dad... he's a lawyer. And my mom is a psychiatrist. She works with children. When we were little she always took our toys into work. I have two sisters, Sarah -- she's fourteen, I think -- and Sasha, who's my age, and my older brother, Adam." Roger hoped that was what David wanted. Those were the people in his family.

David marked the names down for future reference. "Did you get along?"

Roger nodded. "I was never very close with Sarah," he admitted. "I guess she must have been kind of lonely. Adam liked to beat me up and call me a mutant but... he... he did it in a loving way."

David smiled at that. "My brother and I were like that, too. How about your parents? Did you get along with them?"

"I guess so. We fought a lot when I was dating Robert, though," he said. "They didn't like him. With good reason."

"Before you started dating Robert, would you say you were close to your parents?"

"Sure. I would've gone to them with anything. Then I met Robert, and I knew they wouldn't approve..." Roger sighed. "Things got bad."

"What do you mean by bad?"

Roger sighed once more. "Everyone hated me," he said. "We were fighting all the time. Finally, my dad kicked me out."

"Tell me what happened. What did everyone say to you?"

"Just... that wasn't being a family player, that I was being selfish. I just wanted my own space and identity. They didn't like him, so they changed my curfew and forbade me from going out if I didn't have A's in all my classes. Adam's the one who always held the family together, so he was really upset with me. I messed everything up."

"What did your dad say when he kicked you out?"

Roger blushed. He glanced at Mark. "I... can't tell you."

Mark gave him a little smile and continued to rub his back. David made a note and then asked a different question. "That's fair enough, I won't push you, but could you tell me why you can't say it?"

"I'm not allowed to." Roger had no problem with rules. In fact, even this little one made him feel safer.

As soon as Roger said that. Mark understood what Roger meant when he looked over at him. "He called you that word, didn't he?" he asked Roger softly. At his nod, Mark explained. "When I was first accepted to Med School, I had a prof that was severely homophobic. He constantly ridiculed me because of my sexuality. It was so bad I had to go to the university ethics committee and only the threat of a harassment suit got him to stop. He kept using that f-word and made me constantly feel inferior. When Roger used that word to describe himself yesterday, I banned it from the house."

David made a note of this and said, "I understand. Did your father say anything else to you?"

"Yeah. He said I could come home if I behaved myself," Roger said. He didn't want anyone thinking bad things about his family, not even David, who he was to his surprise beginning to trust.

David also made a note of that. "What do you think he means by behaving yourself?"

"Not dating a forty-year-old demented f-- um, toning down my homosexuality," Roger said.

"Sounds like something my own father would have said," commented David. "But he died before I admitted to myself that I was gay." He sat for a minute. "How do your father's comments make you feel?"

"Pissed off, I guess. It was the first time I was in... not love, but... I thought I was in love. Do you understand?"

David nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. Do you think you could ever go back home?"

Roger shook his head. "Probably not. I couldn't live with my parents' restrictions and all the questions. They would want to know about... things... the last few years. And I really don't want them to."

David nodded and made a few more notes. "What kind of things happened with Robert, Roger?" He needed to know how much Roger was willing to talk about.

Roger hesitated. He opened his mouth, closed it, then he said, "J... just... things," he replied

Since Roger wasn't ready to talk about it, he decided to change the focus to the trial. "What do you think about the trial date being so close?" he asked.

"I don't know," he whispered. He brought his knuckles up to his mouth. Honestly, he was nervous--very, extremely nervous. "I think I'll screw it up."

"Screw it up? How?"

"By not testifying right. Saying the wrong stuff, or..."

"Or what?"

He sighed. "Robert didn't do anything wrong," he said.

"But that's for Judge and Jury to decide, Roger. Not you. What scares you about testifying?"

"I'll do it wrong and everyone will get upset with me."

"That is a big problem. How do you think you could make sure you do it right?"

"I don't know. That's a problem. I don't... I mean... I know what happened, but I don't know how I can make people understand."

"Have you thought about practicing for the courtroom?"

Roger shook his head. "You mean rehearsing what I would say?" he asked.

David nodded. "Lots of people do that. Their lawyers go over the testimony before the trial so there are not surprises. Most trials are pretty straightforward and a good lawyer can usually anticipate what the other side is going to ask as well."

"That sounds helpful," he agreed. "I'm just afraid they'll make Robert look like a bad guy. He isn't."

"Maybe you could tell me a little bit about him," David suggested. "Where did you meet?"

"At an ice cream place. I used to go there after judo. I ran into Robert and we started talking in line. Then we started getting really close, and not just meeting there.'

"Where did you guys go? What did you do together?"

"We walked a lot. We went to the park. We just... talked. That's all."

"What did you talk about?"

"Things. He asked me about myself and told me about his job, and some people at work who really bothered him." Roger hoped they didn't realize this mostly meant Mark.

"So what did you like about him? What made you fall almost in love with him?"

"He... seemed nice. He seemed to care about me," Roger explained. "He did care about me."

"And you cared about him, too, right?"

Roger nodded. "Yeah. I really did."

"When did you realize you were becoming more than friends?" David almost cringed at his use of that expression, but since he was dealing with a teenager, it seemed appropriate.

That one was easy. "When he kissed me," Roger replied. In spite of everything, he remembered it as a good kiss.

"How long would you say that was from the time you first met?"

"About a month, I think," he said.

"After he kissed you did your relationship change? Did you do different things or go to different places?"

Roger nodded. "I went to his house sometimes. We... um. We kissed." Obviously they did more, but Roger wasn't ready to discuss it.

"So how much were you spending with him after you started...kissing." David decided to use the euphemism, but kind of stressed the word to let Roger know it meant more.

"Probably two hours or so on Tuesdays and Thursdays, three or more on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. If my parents weren't home on the weekends I went to see him then, too."

"How long did it take before your parents started to get upset?"

"I guess... when the school called them, when I started missing classes."

"Did you miss a lot of classes?"

He nodded. "Especially morning classes. I'd go over to Robert's instead and sleep with him for an hour or so. I had PE zero period, I missed that the most... but you would've missed it, too, I was out at school and the other kids were... not nice. Then I'd miss afternoon classes. Sometimes fourth or fifth, around lunch."

David also made note of the unpleasantness at school. He admired kids who had the strength to be themselves from a young age. "Tell me a bit about school. Were you bullied a lot?"

"Not... bullied," he said, "exactly. Kids just said nasty things, tripped me in the halls. Well. Okay. They did whatever they could get away with," Roger admitted heavily. He hadn't enjoyed school. "They also graffiti'ed my locker."

"Did any of the teachers see? Did they try to stop it?"

"No. At first I thought they didn't know, but they did."

David was saddened to hear this. He occasionally did awareness seminars for teachers about social justice. "How long did it take you to stop going to school altogether?"

"I finished one semester of ninth grade. I moved in with Robert at the end of eighth. He... didn't feel things were working, with me in school." He hadn't exactly forbidden Roger from attending school, but he hadn't hidden his feelings, either. But then he never did. "And I wanted to quit, anyway. I hated it, and I'm not that smart."

"After you moved in with Robert, did you go anywhere besides school? I mean on your own?"

"Running, sometimes," he said. He'd been very involved in sports at that age, but he had quit judo since the classes cost money he didn't have.

"Did he take you other places?"

"The market, sometimes, and the ice cream place. But after a while he stopped taking me. He left me at home."

"When did he stop? Six months after you moved in? A year?"

"A few months," Roger said. "I really stopped going places after I quit school."

"Was that your choice or his?"

"I didn't want to go to school. Robert just let me make my own choice."

David realized that Roger was a lot more relaxed than he was the previous day, so he tried getting some more information about his life at Robert's. "So can you tell me what it was like at Robert's house? Did he have a lot of rules like your parents?"

"It was... different," Roger said. He considered his parents' rules: curfew, eating your vegetables, passing your classes. None of those were particularly important to Robert, since Roger never left the apartment. "Rules, yes. Not bad, though."

"What kind of rules did he have?"

"Normal things. I'm sure you and Jeff have your own rules. It's just, you're mature people who understand them without saying them out loud."

David accepted the answer. He knew that Roger would likely be resistant to talking about the specifics of the relationship in their first true session. He was glad he got as much out of Roger as he did. He decided to push Roger a little further.

"Now I'd like to jump ahead a bit. Mark told me he met you when he treated you in his office. How did your arm get hurt?" He made sure he didn't say "How did you hurt yourself," because he knew Roger did not cause the injury. He wanted to see if Roger trusted him enough to tell the truth.

Roger didn't. He gave the answer Robert told him to give--it was what Robert told him to say if anyone asked him about his arm. "I fell down outside the library," he explained.

David put on his best confused face. "But you said you stopped going places after you quit school?" He knew Roger needed to be called on the lie, but he didn't want him to feel threatened.

Roger cursed silently. Idiot. He should have come up with a better lie, like maybe saying he fell down in the shower. "He let me go this time. He was busy and the books had to go back."

Dave knew that Roger was about at his limit. He just looked at him and said "Roger..." in a warning tone and waited to see what Roger would do.

Roger shivered. He dipped his head, letting hair fall forward over his eyes. "I wanna go upstairs," he said softly. His breathing was shallow. "Can I go upstairs, please?"

Mark looked at David who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Mark was the one to dismiss Roger. "I'll meet you there in a few moments. I'll see David out, Ok?"

"'k." Roger bolted upstairs. He sat down on the bed, then stood. He scratched at his hurt arm.

David waited a moment and stood up. "That went a lot better than I expected. He's got a lot of issues and he's not really able to process what happened to him yet. I wish this trial was later."

Mark nodded. "He's going to have to testify. I got hold of the District Attorney when I was at work and she's going to take a couple of hours to walk Roger through his testimony, but he can't lie like that in court. Can I do anything to help him prepare?"

David thought for a minute. "Just support him, explain about the legal system a little, and offer to help him practice some of his answers, especially about the arm and about sex. I may be able to read his body language, but a transcript of the courts will not."

Mark went and got David his coat. "Thank you for coming here. I know it made it easier for him."

David smiled. "We got a lot further than we would have at the office. Thanks for the meal. Tell Roger I think he's a wonderful cook. Have a good night." With that, David put on his coat and stepped out of the house.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? _


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Mark heard the car pull out of the driveway and found Roger standing in the bedroom scratching at his arm. "Rog? You OK?" he asked.

Roger yelped and jumped in surprise. He quickly pulled his sleeve down; a few of the bandages had been pulled loose and there was a small amount of blood, not enough to worry him though. "F-fine," he replied nervously, unsure whether or not Mark was angry with him. "I'm fine."

Mark gently took his injured arm in his hands and inspected the damage. There were a few abrasions, nothing deep though, and one of the butterfly closures had shifted a little. He led Roger to the bathroom and he washed off the cuts and put some antiseptic on them. "This isn't too bad. All of the new abrasions have already started to close."

"That's good," Roger said. He supposed that when Mark was angry with him, if not now, it would be a lot worse than when Robert was angry. Mark was smart and calculating. "I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" asked Mark.

Roger shrugged. He wasn't sure why, he just felt sorry.

Mark led Roger back to the bedroom and gave him a hug. "I'm proud of you for opening up so much to David."

Roger nuzzled Mark's shoulder gently, feeling guilty because he hadn't opened up to David. He had lied.

Mark continued. "I think we're going to have to practice answering questions about Robert, though. You need to be ready to talk about your arm in the courtroom."

Roger went rigid, as he always did when that topic came up. "I-I told you," he whimpered softly, hoping Mark wouldn't push him. "I told you, I fell..."

"No you didn't Roger. I told you, you can't get that type of injury from a fall."

"W-well then how can you get it?" he asked. Surely there was some harmless way.

Mark looked into his eyes to show his seriousness. "The only time you get that break pattern with the type of damage to your arm is when a person grabs the arm and tries to twist it off. When you came in the first time, there were still finger marks on your arm."

Roger trembled. He gnawed on his thumb. "So... you know," he concluded. "You don't need me to say..."

Mark wrapped his arms around Roger again, holding him close. "I know it Roger, and that's what they'll be asking me. Along with your other injures. But since they gave you a subpoena, too, you'll have to testify. You have to tell the truth in court. It's against the law not to." His tone was soothing, not harsh, but he knew Roger was not going to like this information.

Roger had heard as much. He knew about perjury and the exceptions, self-incrimination and things, and he knew none of that applied to him. What he did was wrong, not illegal. "W-will... will I have to say why?" he asked. Maybe he could explain if he didn't say what started it.

Mark wasn't sure. Most likely Robert's lawyers would ask that, in the effort to break Roger. "I don't know. It may come up, but I think first we should get you comfortable just saying what happened."

"But you can tell them," Roger said softly. Mark would say, and he wouldn't have to.

Mark shook his head. "They're still going to ask and make sure what you say agrees with what I say."

He closed his eyes softly. So there was no way to get out of this. "Okay," Roger said softly.

Mark spoke in a soft, steady voice. "What happened to your arm, Roger?"

"Robert had my arm in his hands." Roger kept his eyes closed, remembering the scene like it was something in a movie. If he was only a witness, this didn't hurt. "He kept twisting... he said he'd pull it off. It hurt. He pulled me into the bedroom." He opened his eyes. "That's it. That's what happened."

Mark pulled him in for another hug. "I know that was hard for you. You did well. Do you think you can tell that to other people now?"

Probably not, Roger knew. "I think so," he said. He also knew what Mark wanted to hear. He was relieved that Mark settled for only that piece of the story.

Mark had his doubts about Roger's confidence. It was one thing to tell him in the privacy of the bedroom, and another entirely to testify at a trial, but Mark wanted Roger to feel successful in a little way. He know the lawyer would ask what happened in the bedroom and Robert's lawyer would try to turn the blame on Roger. However, he needed to tread carefully with Roger. If he asked enough, maybe Roger would learn to tell the truth automatically. "I'm going to keep asking you, so you can practice," Mark informed him. What Mark didn't say was that he planned to press for more details once the response became automatic.

Roger nodded. He knew argument was futile. "All right," he ceded, no fight in him. He sat down on the bed.

"But not tonight. How do you think the session with David went? Oh, he told me that he really enjoyed the meal tonight."

Roger gave a tiny smile. He couldn't help it; he loved being complimented. It meant someone was happy with him. "I guess it went well. Did I do ok?"

Mark smiled back at Roger. "Yes, you did fine. I know it was kind of hard for you to talk about some of those things."

"Was he angry?" Roger asked softly. He wouldn't totally blame David if he was. Roger had run out on the session, and he knew it.

"I don't think so. I bet he's had worse things happen than someone ending the session a little early." Mark actually knew this for a fact, since he had stitched up a few wounds for David on one occasion, but he couldn't tell that to Roger.

"That's good." Roger touched the bedsheet gently. "I'm going to have to say stuff in court, aren't I?" he asked.

Mark confirmed this with a nod. "They're probably going to want you to go into a lot of detail, too."

"Will I have to tell them what I did?" he asked, touching his arm. He meant what had inspired Robert to nearly rip his arm off.

"I don't think the DA will ask, but Robert's lawyer might." Mark confirmed.

He nodded, his mind registering this new fact. He didn't want to do this, but he knew he couldn't lie. Not in court. "They won't put him away," he said softly.

"Roger, they already have him on statutory rape charges. The fact of the matter is he had sex with you before the age of seventeen. He's already going to do time for that. You haven't been seventeen long and my testimony will prove that he had sex with you before your birthday. If the DA can prove assault he'll be away longer, and probably get some help"

"H-he's not bad," Roger said. "He's just sick." He needs attention, and Mark's words comforted Roger. Someone would help Robert, and he would be ok. "Promise you won't hate me," he asked.

"I couldn't hate you, Roger. I love you too much." He hugged Mark again. "You can tell me anything."

Roger shook his head. "He wasn't... too wrong. Maybe a little cruel, but it was justified."

Mark reassured him, "I won't hate you. I promise. Please tell me."

"Tell you... um... what?" Roger knew, but he found that feigning ignorance bought him time. Maybe Mark would get distracted. Maybe there would be an earthquake!

"Please tell me why Robert hurt your arm." Mark made sure to look Roger in the eye and speak softly and firmly.

"Okay..." Roger licked his lips nervously. "Remember I told you that I wasn't supposed to have orgasms when he wasn't there?" he asked.

Mark nodded. It was one of Robert's more disturbing rules and he cringed at the thought of someone having that much control over Roger.

"Well. I was watching tv, and there was a movie on with a really, really cute actor." Roger blushed. He knew he was trying to justify it, and he knew that it couldn't be justified. "And... I really liked him... and..."

Mark could guess what happened. "You got aroused?"

Roger shook his head. "Um, Robert had some of those, uh, rings, that, you put them on and it makes it hurt when you get hard?" he asked, hoping Mark knew what he referred to.

Mark shook his head. "I'm not exactly sure what you mean...I've never really used anything like that." One of his old boyfriends had worn a leather band, but he used it to keep from coming too quickly.

"It's... it holds back your..." he tried, then blushed painfully. He couldn't talk about his penis, even with a doctor. "Robert had that kind of thing," he said finally.

Mark was still a little confused, but the important thing was that Roger tell the story. "So what happened with the movie?" he asked, hoping to get Roger talking some more.

"I... took-off-the-thing-and-started-masturbating," Roger said, the words pouring out in a rush.

Mark nodded. "That's a perfectly natural thing to do, especially for a teenager... Wait. You said you took off the thing? How long were you wearing it?"

Roger hesitated. Wasn't he supposed to? Somehow he knew there was no way to answer that question without upsetting Mark. "Any time unless he said so."

Mark realized he needed to do some research, but this device might explain why Roger was no loner able to get an erection. He'd investigate this device in the morning. "Sorry for interrupting," he said. "So what happened then, after you started masturbating?"

"Robert came home," Roger said, which to him summarized the entire evening.

"And he saw you masturbating?" Mark knew Roger would stop there unless he asked questions.

He nodded. Yes, Robert walked in on him masturbating.

"What did Robert do? Did he say anything?"

"He grabbed my arm and said he would pull it off. And that he would teach me to look at other men." Roger winced. Mark would probably think he was horrible now.

"And that's when he hurt your arm." It wasn't a question. "Roger, you didn't deserve that. You're allowed to think other men are attractive. You're allowed to pleasure yourself."

Roger shook his head. "No," he said. "No, that's, that's cheating, that's not right," he insisted. As much as he wanted to believe Mark, Robert's lesson had stuck.

"Having a fantasy isn't cheating. Touching yourself isn't either." Mark said simply.

"I didn't mean to!" He really hadn't. It just... happened.

"You did nothing wrong, Roger. Robert was insecure. I know that you would never go out and have sex with a random man. There's a big difference between imagining what something would be like and true infidelity." Mark smiled. "In fact, feel free to touch yourself as much as you want while you're with me."

Did Mark mean that he wanted Roger to masturbate? or just that if Roger wanted to, he could? Roger supposed that Mark meant it was an option. Mark didn't seem to want to influence Roger's actions. "Even if I'm thinking about Brad Pitt and not you?" he asked.

"Even then. I've been known to have a fantasy or two about Brad Pitt myself."

Roger blushed. He hesitated, then asked, "Could I go to the restroom please?"

Mark nodded. "Go ahead. Oh, you don't really need to ask when we're alone in the house. I guess with company it would be polite to excuse yourself first, though."

"Okay." Roger went into the bathroom and shut the door. He took a deep breath, then slipped his hand inside his boxers

Mark had already undressed and slipped under the covers by the time Roger came back. When he felt the warmth of a warm body next to him, he rolled over and quickly found Rogers lips with his own. "Missed you," he mumbled through the kiss.

Roger slipped his arms around Mark. "I missed you, too," he said softly. He was growing quite familiar with the feeling of Mark's body against his, Mark's lips on his.

Mark sighed in contentment and relished in the warmth of Roger's embrace. He realized that their usual positions were reversed. He usually hugged Roger in the bed. He could get used to this. "Do you want to talk about anything?" he asked.

Roger did. He blurted his concern, "Will you still want to be with me if I can't satisfy you?" He was referring to sexual satisfaction. Roger still couldn't get an erection. He felt a sort of tingly something, but couldn't rise to the occasion.

Mark was a little surprised that Roger was so blunt, but was quick to reassure him. "Roger, I love you and I want to be with you. I'll be satisfied with whatever you can offer me, whenever you're ready to offer it." He closed his eyes and then had a revelation. "I just realized that I'm more content lying in a bed talking with you than I ever have been when I was with anyone else."

Roger smiled. He quickly kissed Mark's cheek, surprised at his forwardness tonight. "I really love you," he said.

Mark turned his head and kissed Roger long and hard. "I really love you, too."

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? _


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

The week passed quickly. Work was not eventful for Mark. Remarkably, most of his elderly patients had remained in fairly good health. He saw a few slip and fall victims, but the traffic through his office was not any higher than usual. Mark was thankful for this. It allowed him to spend more time thinking about Roger. Since the session with David, Mark had continued to ask Roger about his arm. At first, he needed to ask a lot of questions and coax Roger into talking. By Friday, he no longer needed so much coaxing.

On Saturday morning Mark woke a bit early. It was a beautiful morning. The snow that had fallen during the night glistened and sparkled in the morning sunlight and the trees in the back yard looked like lace, their interlocking branches covered with a pristine layer of white. He stared out the window and sighed contentedly.

Roger woke slowly when he felt Mark move. Perhaps he was just shifting to a more comfortable position, but it was enough for Roger to open his eyes. He was a light sleeper, after his time with Robert. If Robert had a bad day and Roger was napping when he came home, sparks had been known to fly. So when Mark stirred, Roger's eyes popped open.

"Mark?" Roger asked sleepily. Was he awake, or moving in his sleep?

"Good morning, Roger." Mark was sitting up, his gaze fixed out the window. "It snowed again last night, and I was just enjoying the view." He had always liked snow. Although most adults complained when they had to shovel the walks, he let his inner child imagine he was making a route to a secret fort. He smiled realizing he could do that today before Temple.

Roger smiled. He bolted forward, pressing his face against the window, gasping. Outside lay a paradise of untouched snow. The cold glass against his forehead made him happy. He remembered every snowball he had ever been pelted with, the shoveling races they had as children. It had been years since Roger played in the snow. Still, it made him happy.

Mark smiled at Roger's delight, then had an idea. "Hey, we have to shovel before we go to Temple anyway. Why don't we go outside and play? We could build a snowman or a fort while we clear the walks." When Mark was younger he'd often build a snowman to get rid of the snow on the walks and driveway. It was more fun than using the shovel.

Roger turned to Mark, grinning. "Really?" he asked, barely believing it. It was just too good to be true.

Mark returned the grin. "Yes, really. It will be fun. I've got extra ski pants and mittens, so we won't get too cold."

Roger was tumbling out of bed already and pulling on his pants. "I can't wait. I haven't played in the snow in years. This is going to be great."

Mark also hurried to get dressed. "I haven't actually played in the snow since college and I made an anatomically correct snowman and snow woman on campus. But every time I shovel I imagine I'm making a fort or gathering the snow with my friends to make a snow sculpture or something."

Roger giggled at the anatomically correct snowpeople. "We used to have a big boys-against-girls snowball fight every year," he said. Since there were two boys and two girls, this worked fine. They also had a 'muties and norms' fight, but he thought it best not to mention that.

"I would have loved that. My sister was always too prim and proper to have a snowball fight. Luckily, I have cousins. She didn't know what she was missing!" Mark was just about dressed. He pulled out a couple of pairs of thick woolen socks from his drawer and offered one pair to Roger. "Here, put these on over your cotton ones so your feet don't get cold."

Roger couldn't imagine siblings who didn't snowball fight. Even Sarah joined in, and Adam was a flat out demon.

"Thank you." Roger pulled the woolen socks on. He curled and uncurled his toes before jamming his feet into his shoes. "I'm ready when you are."

Mark led the way to the coat closet. As he had promised, there were two pairs of ski pants and two medium-weight parkas there. He handed one of each to Roger, then grabbed hats and mittens for them both. "I'm sorry I don't have boots in your size. Maybe we should get some. For now, your sneakers will have to do. You can change your shoes before Temple so your feet don't get too wet."

Roger nodded. He hoped they had so much snow-related fun that Mark forgot all about temple. The last thing Roger wanted just then was to see his father, not now that he knew about... everything. Quickly Roger pulled on the ski pants and parka that Mark offered. "I'll be fine with sneakers," he said.

Mark got on his outdoor clothing and opened the door. He stopped before stepping though, appreciating the beauty of the untouched snow. "I used to think it was magic when I stepped in snow that no one else had been in before. I always made a wish when I took the first step. Why don't you do the honors?" He motioned to Roger to go ahead.

Roger closed his eyes gently, thinking. If he could have any wish, what would it be? After a long time, he had settled on it. He stepped into the snow, feeling crystals crunch under his shoes, his feet sinking a few inches. Then he opened his eyes. Roger half expected his dream to come true. He expected to see his siblings standing behind him. He wanted Adam to shove him and call him a mutant freak, Sasha to knock him over and make him eat snow. But they didn't.

Mark followed in a moment, wondering what Roger had wished for. He knew better than to ask. He leaned over and took a couple of handfuls, testing the snow to see if it was the right consistency for their fun and games. It was perfect, light but kind of wet and sticky. Perfect for forming snowballs and for packing into snow creations. He took his handfuls and formed a ball. He stepped away from Roger and gathered a little more snow. "Hey Roger!" he called and then let the snowball fly.

Roger laughed and he ducked. The snowball whizzed over his head. Laughing, he scooped up a double handful of snow and packed it into a ball. He was about to throw it, then he paused. When he and Robert started dating, Robert would have let throw the snowball. By the end, he would have been furious. "I can throw it, right?" he asked Mark.

Mark felt sad that Roger needed to ask. What had Robert done to him? "Of course! I wouldn't have thrown one at you if I didn't expect revenge!" Mark's speech was a little long, because Roger let the snowball go and it hit him smack in the middle of the face. Mark swiped at his face with his mitten, then laughed. "Guess I had that coming!" He dove down and started making and throwing snowballs as fast as he could.

Roger did the same, laughing as he threw snowballs at Mark. Snowballs hit him, too, bursting cold onto his cheeks, but he was laughing so hard he felt much warmer.

After a few minutes, Mark was out of breath and needed to stop. "OK, I surrender!" he called. He just wasn't as young as he used to be. "That was fun. He looked around the yard. The snow was wet and deep, not the easiest to shovel. How about we start building a snowman to get the snow off the walkways? It's much more fun than plain old shoveling."

Roger smiled. "Okay," he said. He started piling snow into a big ball to make the base of the snowman, grinning at the cold and the way he barely felt his ears and nose.

Mark started rolling the middle of the snowman. He started in the driveway and circled the car. The snow was perfect. It was wet and heavy and stuck at the slightest touch. By the time he rolled the snow to the street, he had a good sized ball. He turned and saw the huge ball that Roger had made. He hoped he could lift this snowball, but knew he had some wooden skids in the garage if need be. When he got the snowball back to the base, he found he was able to lift it without injuring himself. He grinned at Roger. "Wanna make it anatomically correct?"he asked with a wicked glint in his eye.

Roger considered, then shook his head. He didn't want his snowman left unattended, at the mercy of whatever creep happened to walk by. What if Robert walked by? Or anyone. Someone would do bad things to their snowman... Then he considered further. Anatomically correct meant their poor snowman was left outside in the snow with his sensitive places unprotected. And Roger knew what that was like.

"He is anatomically correct, Mark. He's wearing clothes."

Mark cocked his head. "I hadn't thought about that. Good one! The neighbors probably will like it better like this, too." Mark then scooped up some more snow to make the head. It didn't take very long. "Should we add branches for arms and a face?"

Roger nodded. He found a couple of branches and pushed them into the snowman's side so they stuck out at downward angles. He looked like he was holding his arms out for a hug. "How should we do his eyes?"

"I know coal is the tradition, but I don't have any. How about grapes? Carrot nose, of course and maybe a banana for a smile?"

Roger smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "How about we draw on the mouth and have a banana boat after dinner?" he suggested.

Mark smiled. He hadn't had a banana boat in years. "Good idea. Do you want me to get the carrot and grapes?"

"I'll go with you," Roger replied quickly. He was all right being alone inside the house, usually, but outside was another issue entirely.

Mark nodded and entered the house. It wasn't until the warm air hit him that he realized how cold he was. He had forgotten the cold air in the excitement of building the snowman. He removed his boots at the door. He indicated to Roger to wait for him in the entry and sprinted to the fridge for the supplies. It took less than a minute and he got his boots back on in the same amount of time.

Roger managed to wait without a panic attack. He stood right where Mark had left him, his feet rooted to the spot. See how good I can be? The truth was that subconsciously, Roger's mind had churned the knowledge of the trial date and his family's desires and come to the conclusion that, after the trial, Mark might not want him around. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just that, with how huge an event it was, something was bound to change. But in the meantime he needed Mark to see how good he was.

Mark grabbed Roger's hand and pulled him outside and back to the snowman. "Will you do the honors?" he asked, holding the produce out to him.

Roger grinned. "Thank you." He stuck the grapes in the snowman's eyes. "Mmm, you know frozen grapes are a great snack. Not these, though." He added the carrot, then pressed his finger into the snow and drew in a smile.

Mark grinned. There was something about the snowman that made him feel light and carefree. Maybe it was because it brought out memories of his youth. "It's great. I'm glad we made him. Let's go in the house. I think I may have some hot chocolate in the cupboard. We can warm up and then change for Temple."

Roger nodded. Inside, he started taking off his sweaters and shoes very carefully. He didn't want to mess up Mark's floors. Still, he didn't abandon speed. He needed to get into the kitchen and make that hot chocolate. "Would it be ok if I made toast?" he asked. "It won't take too long."

Mark nodded. "That would be good. Let's have cinnamon toast! I love cinnamon toast in the winter. Do you need any help?"

"No, I've got it." He hurried into the kitchen. Roger's socked feet slipped on the hardwood floor, and he ended up falling somewhat painfully on his rear. But Roger hopped back up -- reminding himself that his bottom had taken worse poundings -- and started the toast.

Mark heard the crash in the kitchen and opened the door in time to see Roger get off the floor. "Are you alright?" he asked. The floors were hard and Roger was lean, so he didn't have a lot of cushioning.

Roger replied, as always, "I'm fine." He probably would've claimed to be fine if he'd broken his leg. This time, luckily, he was. He put a pot of milk on the stove.

Mark opened the cupboards and searched through the shelves until he got the hot chocolate mix. He also pulled out the cinnamon and sugar for the toast and put them on the counter. He went to the table and took a seat, glancing at the clock. There was plenty of time to enjoy their breakfast and still get to temple on time. "That was fun." Mark commented.

Roger nodded. "It was." He meant it, too. He would have agreed to anything Mark said but this one was easy. He portioned the cocoa into two mugs and stirred in a tablespoon of milk to each. When the toast popped up he buttered it and added cinnamon and sugar. By then the milk was starting to boil, and Roger could pour it into the mugs. He mixed them up and brought the food to the table, then put the pot in the sink to soak.

Mark sipped the warm drink and munched on a piece of toast. It was a perfect winter morning, reminding him of many like it during his childhood. He wondered when the last time Roger was able to spend a morning just having fun. He had a feeling it had been a long time.

Roger was thinking something similar. It was, he decided, a few months after moving in with Robert. The beatings had started, but they hadn't quite managed to kill his soul yet, and when he woke up to a beautiful morning, he shook Robert and told him, Look: isn't the world so perfect today? Robert had to work, but he kissed Roger and told him to have a good time. He even promised to bring home pizza.

After several minutes of silent reverie, Mark looked at the clock again. "I guess we should get changed for Temple. Do you need the shower this morning?"

Roger hesitated. Maybe he could drag this out by showering. He might make them a little late... but he wanted Mark to like him. He shook his head. "No. I'll just change."

Mark nodded. "Me too." He followed Roger to the bedroom where they both changed their clothes.

Roger sighed. He shook his head. "I'm not ready for this," he said softly. He was not protesting, but he wanted Mark to know.

"Not ready for what?" Mark asked. He had an idea, but felt it was important that Roger express what he was feeling.

"To see my family," he said. He hadn't seen them since the news report... and now they knew.

Mark nodded. "I'll be with you. I know it's hard, but I think we should go anyway. If it gets to be too much, I'll hit my pager to make it go off so we can get away quickly."

Roger looked up in surprise. "R-really?" he asked.

Mark grinned. "I've done it more than once to get away from my mother." He chuckled a bit, then got serious for a moment. "I think seeing them will do you some good, but I don't want you to be overwhelmed."

Roger nodded. He wanted to see his family... just not as he was. As someone they could be proud of. "Do you think they'll hate me?"

Mark put his arm around Roger's shoulders. "No. I guarantee it. They won't hate you."

Roger nodded. He had trouble looking at Mark. "L-let's get going, ok?"

"Sure," Mark replied. They put on their coats and boots and got in the car. Throughout the service, Mark watched Roger. He was much more tense than he was the week before.

Roger watched his family. They sat up near the front of the temple, while he and Mark were in back. Sarah was fidgeting and tugging her braids, and from Sasha's hunched shoulders Roger guessed she had a book open in her lap. Adam was sitting still, but if he had to guess Roger would say he only did this because he was Setting A Good Example. As the service drew to a close, he became antsy. Surely he could dash out and conveniently "just miss" his family...

Mark saw Roger's increased restlessness and realized he wanted to bolt. He was determined that Roger at least speak to his family on the way out. Maybe he could see for himself they didn't hate him. Mark knew Roger probably would never go back to them, but he didn't want the younger man to sever ties with them. They could help him heal.

When the service ended, Roger wanted to run. He wanted to excuse himself to the restroom and not come out. Instead, he stayed put. He didn't trust himself to move; he sat and tried to think of what he would say to his family. How could he reintroduce himself?

As luck had it, he didn't have to. "Oh. My. God." This came from the aisle, and was promptly followed by a squeal of, "Joshua!" Roger had just enough time to stand before he was swept into his sister's arms. She hugged him, laced her fingers through his and kissed his cheeks, all the while babbling, "I can't believe it's you, I can't believe it's you!"

Annie came up behind Joshua and wrapped him in another hug. "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked softly. "Why didn't you tell me what he did to you?" Like all mothers, she wanted to take all the hurt away. Unfortunately, you couldn't heal a wounded soul by kissing boo-boos.

Roger lowered his eyes. There wasn't an answer, not really... not one she could understand. Because it was my fault. Wasn't it? Wasn't it because I was bad? or, Because I'm ashamed for letting it happen, or just because it's too personal. "I don't know," he whispered.

"You couldn't, could you?" This was from Sasha, who still had her fingers twined through Roger's. "It's ok," she added, barely above a whisper.

"You should have come home--"

Sasha turned to her father and rolled her eyes. "Shit, Daddy! Why would you say something like that?"

Annie looked at her husband coldly. "We discussed this already, Jakob. Please! Be civil to him."

Sarah sat down next to Joshua. "Why did you go away, Joshua? Why did you leave us? Do you hate us?" In the back of her mind, she thought she might have done something to drive her older brother away. Did she bother him too much or wreck his things? If she hadn't complained about doing extra chores would he have stayed?

He shook his head and gently squeezed her hand. "Of course not. Of course I don't hate you," he murmured. What had he done? Somehow he hadn't consider the damage he would do to Sarah in all of this-- after all, he reasoned, she would have Adam and Sasha to protect her. And she had been so happy when he last saw her, not like this.

"Where've you been staying-- I mean, since?" Sasha asked.

"With Dr. Cohen. Right, Josh?" Adam asked. He managed to say Dr. Cohen in an extraordinarily sultry voice.

Annie gave her eldest son a look that could have melted steel. She didn't want to get into that at the moment. "Is Dr. Cohen still treating you well, Joshua?"

As though he would say anything else with Mark sitting right there! But he nodded. "Mark's very nice," he said softly.

"He better not be the reason you're so skinny," Sasha said, poking Roger's ribs playfully, "or I may just have to kick his butt."

The idea of Sasha kicking Mark's butt made Roger smile, partly because he had no doubt that she could do so. "You'll make a wonderful Jewish wife and mother," Adam told Sasha. "Do the guilt thing. C'mon. Do it."

"Don't make me castrate you..."

"See it's just not subtle enough..."

Sarah chimed in, "Hmm... I had hoped to have some fun with my two brothers, but Adam, if you keep it up I'm only going to have one brother and two sisters instead! You know she's serious about castrating you!"

"Make it three sisters."

The comment was barely out of Jakob's mouth but Sasha had lunged forward. Adam grabbed her before she could do anything, but if looks could kill... "Don't... do... this." The words were clipped and tense, and it was obvious that despite a noteworthy difference in size that did not at all favor Sasha, she was giving Adam a run for his money holding her still.

"Jakob..." Annie warned. After all this time, why couldn't he just accept Joshua?

Sarah sobered up immediately. "Are you still gay?" she asked Joshua. She wasn't sure how it worked. Her dad made it seem like Joshua had a choice.

Silently, Roger prayed for Mark to fake his beeper going off. He would settle for Mark's beeper really going off. Hell, someone could die. Anything to get him out of here. He had yet to really look at anyone in his family, but he had a strong sense for just how they viewed him: as a nuisance, as a source of conflict. He nodded. Yes, I'm still gay.

Sarah sighed. She may not have been as close with Joshua as Sasha but she missed him. "So you're not coming home to stay then?"

Roger shook his head. He didn't have the words to tell her that no, he wasn't coming home now, yet or ever. He didn't raise his eyes, so he didn't see Adam punch Sarah a little too hard on the shoulder.

"What does that have to do with him being gay?" Sasha asked. "I mean it just means he likes boys. You like boys, and you live at home."

Sarah's eyes misted over. "I heard Dad talking before. He said Joshua couldn't come home if he was gay."

"Maybe Daddy should've worn a condom then," Adam said sweetly. He mussed her hair. "Don't worry. That was just talk."

"You're coming home then?" Sarah asked hopefully.

Roger shook his head. "I don't think so..."

"He'll visit," Sasha said quickly. Somehow rallying around Sarah had become their instinct. "It's kind of like he went to college early. We're still family."

Sarah nodded. She could accept that. She gave him a grin. "You better, or I'll have to sic Sasha on you."

Sasha growled and barked and before he could think, Roger grinned. His dad might still be an ass, but his siblings felt like family, even after everything. "Maybe Christmas," he said softly.

Annie glanced over to Mark, who was standing nearby. "Dr. Cohen would be welcome to come, too, of course," she promised. She gave her husband a look that told him her word was law in this matter. Sasha had obviously inherited her tenacity from her mother.

Roger breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't sure he could do that without Mark. "But, uh, we should be going soon... right, Mark?" Roger asked, hoping Mark took the hint. He had seen his family, for all the good and bad it brought.

Mark did take the hint. He made a show of glancing at his watch. "Oh! Yes, look at the time! I have an appointment this afternoon that I just can't miss. It was a pleasure meeting you all."

Roger said good-bye to his family and hugged everyone except Jakob, with whom he settled for a handshake and wanted nothing more, then gratefully darted out of the temple. "Thank you," he said to Mark.

Mark put his arm around Roger as he guided him to the car. A light dusting of snow had started to fall. "You're welcome. You did well. I'm proud of you. I know that was extremely hard for you."

"Thank you," he repeated, melting under Mark's touch. "For everything. Thank you for making me stay, and thank you for helping me leave." But more than anything, Roger was scared. If Mark really did kick him out after the trial, he would have no place to go.

Mark gave Roger another half-hug. "You're welcome. I like your family. Someone may have to have a little talk about the facts of life with Sarah, though. And I never want to get on Sasha's bad side. She's worse than my mother."

Roger laughed. "You should've seen her in elementary school. The first day of first grade, they tried to take her away from Mom and she actually barked at her teacher. So loudly it scared the teacher off!"

Mark chuckled at the tale. "If you want, when things get a little more settled after the trial, we can have your sisters and brother over. Your mother, too. I'm sorry, though, I don't think I could extend the invitation to your father. One is supposed to be polite to guests, but I don't think I could ignore your father's attitudes about certain subjects."

Roger nodded. He wasn't sure he wanted to see his father after the trial, either. "We can schedule it when he's out of town," he suggested. Just the thought brought his father's remark to the surface, and it stung.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? _


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Mark drove in silence for a few minutes, then turned to Roger. "Do you have any idea about where my 'appointment' could be? I don't really want to have lied to your mother." He grinned to show it was a joke.

Roger smiled awkwardly. He didn't understand the joke, but he didn't want Mark to know that, so he just gave the awkward smile then returned to gazing out the window. He was thinking about his father. Roger knew he hadn't done anything wrong. He knew it... but that didn't stop him thinking otherwise.

Mark was a little concerned about Roger's silence, but decided that it would be better to address it at home, but first, he wanted to see about getting Roger out in public. In the past week or so, Roger had not wanted to go anywhere but willingly came to the office and Temple. Mark knew it would be in Roger's best interest to venture out so he wouldn't get too overwhelmed at the courthouse. He tried to think of an excuse to get him out. As he ran his fingers through his air, it came to him. "Roger, I think I could use a haircut. It's been a while since I last had one. Do you mind if we stop at the mall? The hairdresser there takes walk-ins."

Roger hesitated. "Maybe... maybe you could drop me off at home," he suggested softly. "I should start making dinner." It was as good an excuse as any, and probably better than some. Roger liked it, though he too could use a haircut. Robert hadn't minded as long as Roger kept himself tidy, so the last of Roger's haircuts had been done at home, by himself. He wouldn't have minded short hair, either. Less like a girl's...

Mark knew it was an excuse, so he decided to shoot it down. It was time to push just a little. "Why don't we both get haircuts, do some shopping and the have dinner out together. Then you won't have to worry about making dinner. You're a great cook and I appreciate what you do, but I think you deserve a break for a day."

"Okay," Roger said softly. He rubbed the heels of his hand across his pants. "In our nice clothes?" he asked. Not that it bothered him; he would have his own clothes clean for temple next week and Mark had other decent outfits, but it was an excuse and Roger would take any port in a storm.

"Sure. We can ask for extra towels when they cut our hair and then we can get into someplace a little fancier since we're so handsome in our nice clothes." Mark thought for a minute. "Actually, I just realized you don't have a suit. We should get you one for court."

"Really?" Roger asked. He felt nauseous just thinking about going to court, let alone in strange clothes. "I can't wear this?" It was good enough for G-d, wouldn't it be good enough for court?

Mark looked him over. Roger's clothes were perfectly appropriate to wear to Temple, but they gave him a young appearance. He looked almost lost. "You could, I suppose," he said. "You look nice in that, although kind of casual. I'd suggest a tailored shirt and tie, but if we do that, you may as well get full suit. You never know, you may need one for something else." Perhaps if Roger's appearance looked well-put-together, he'd stat to feel more confident.

Roger felt his muscles tighten. He didn't like all this dressing up. It stirred guilt. "I think this is ok," he said softly, brushing invisible dust motes off his shirt. Then he winced. He fully expected a slap for that. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"For what?" Mark asked. "You didn't do anything wrong. How about we compromise. No suit, but perhaps a new shirt and tie? And we should get you some boots too. I bet the snow this morning is only the start of winter."

"We'll do whatever you think is best," Roger said. He didn't have a lot of influence here, and he knew it. He slumped back in his seat. "Why doesn't he love me?" he asked softly after a moment. He was referring to his father, as though Mark might have some answer.

Unfortunately, Mark didn't have one. "I'm sorry, I don't know," he replied sadly. "My folks don't like the fact that I'm gay, but they still love me. They just try to ignore that aspect of my life and go about their business as usual. But you know, Roger, it's his loss. You're a great person. You're smart, brave, compassionate and you have a good sense of humor, and I love you a lot. Though, I guess it's not the same, is it?"

"No," he said softly, because it wasn't. "I mean... I love you, too." He pressed his cheek against the windowpane. The cold glass made him feel real. His father's comment bounced around in Roger's mind, and he wasn't so wrong, was he? After all, Roger figured, an impotent boy is close enough... bad enough an impotent gay boy...

"What are you thinking?" asked Mark. "Talk to me."

"'m thinkin' G-d messed up," Roger said matter-of-factly. His tongue felt heavy

"Why do you think that?"

"'Cause I'm messed up," he mumbled.

"G-d doesn't make mistakes, you know. You've got some problems, sure, but so do we all."

Roger gritted his teeth. He didn't know how to explain this to Mark. He just felt wrong inside. "Where are you going to get your hair cut?"

"There's a place at the mall I usually go to. They have four or five good hairstylists but they're not too expensive. How do you want yours cut?"

"I don't know. How do you think it would look good?" Roger asked. He was trying to gain some sense of comfort here by ceding any sense of control.

Mark glanced over at him and tried to picture different styles. It was hard to do: Roger sat with his hair falling forward, obscuring his face, and Mark had trouble picturing his profile. "Shorter I think, but not a crew cut or anything like that. Maybe we should look through the books when we get there."

Roger balked. He liked his hair long and a little shaggy, but he nodded. "Okay." He wasn't going to argue with Mark, not after that close call earlier. Besides, he could handle shorter. It was too long now even for his tastes.

Within a few minutes, they pulled into the crowded mall parking lot. Mark hoped it wouldn't be too overwhelming for Roger. With the holidays fast approaching, more people than usual were hunting for bargains. Mark parked near the door closest to the hairdresser and the shops he liked the best. He didn't want to fight the throng of shoppers any longer than necessary.

Roger took a deep breath. He would be fine. He was with Mark. He was safe. He would be okay. He unbuckled his seatbelt, gave Mark a shaky smile, and slipped out of the car. "Which way to the hair place?"

"Left when you get to the first corridor. It's not too far," Mark assured. They entered the mall and found the place easily. There were a couple of people ahead of them, so they began looking through the style books. Mark found an updated version of his usual cut so he decided to get that. He had a hard time picturing some of the styles on Roger, though. "What do you think of this one?" he asked pointing to one of the photos.

"That looks good," Roger replied, not really looking. He would have his hair cut however Mark wanted it--after all, Mark was the one paying, housing him, buying the food, checking his messed up arm. It would be ingratuitous not to give him some amount of control.

Mark looked at the picture and looked at Roger again. "Actually, I'm not sure. I don't think it's you. I'm not that good at this kind of thing. I don't exactly fit the "stylish" stereotype of being gay," he commented. "Maybe we should just ask your stylist. He or she would have a better idea."

"Okay." Roger tugged on his hair softly. He knew it was too long now. Even he didn't like that much. Maybe there was an added bonus to Mark's preference for short hair: Roger's dad would like it.

In a few minutes, Mark's name was called. "If you get done before I do, just tell the cashier that I'm paying for your haircut." He then followed an enthusiastic young woman to the back of the shop.

Roger's name was called next. The stylist who had called him washed his hair, blow-dried it, then asked, "When was your last haircut?"

"'bout three years ago." Sometimes he had gotten fed up and asked permission to just hack it, but no one had actually professionally cut Roger's hair in three years.

"Three years?" the stylist repeated in disbelief. Roger told him that he lived under a rock and the stylist laughed. "So how do you want it?"

"Longish. Shorter than this, obviously."

Mark's cut didn't take long, so he took a seat in the waiting area. He liked the cut and had even agreed to having some gel applied to his hair. His stylist had shown him how to style his hair in the mornings using a relatively simple method involving only a small amount of product. He wondered what Roger would get done. He didn't really have any preferences for Roger's hair as long as it looked neat.

A little while later, Roger joined Mark. He had the sudden compulsion to pull on a hat, and kept stroking his hair flat to cover it. Mark's hair looked much shorter, an interpretation of Roger's overzealous fears, and suddenly he thought his hair was much too long. He liked it, but didn't think Mark would.

Mark glanced over at Roger's hair and gasped. It wasn't short, but it wasn't too long either. The style perfectly suited him. In all honesty, he found it quite sexy. "You look great!" Mark exclaimed.

Roger blushed and grinned. Mark liked it. He tugged on his hair. "Thanks. You look good, too. They put stuff in it." He touched Mark's gelled hair. "Can I keep my hair like this?"

"'Course you can. It's your hair!" Mark exclaimed. "As long as you like it, I'm happy. Besides," his voice lowered significantly, "It's very sexy."

Roger blushed. "Really?" he asked, more than a little thrilled at Mark's approval,

Mark nodded, not taking his eyes off of Roger. "I think your stylist may be jealous that I get to take you home," he said softly. He stepped to the cashier and paid both bills leaving large tips for both stylists.

Roger smiled. Mark was being so nice today he didn't even mind being in public. Still, he decided to push his luck. "We're heading home now?" he asked. The mall was filled with people. He could hear the babies screaming.

Mark shook his head. "I still want to go to the menswear store down the hall. It won't take long," he promised. He wanted to get a good dress shirt for Roger and decided to cover it up by getting a couple of new shirts for himself as well.

"Okay." Roger hadn't ever been in a menswear store. When he left home he still bought his clothes at Gap.

Mark led the way into the store and called an attendant over. When he had shopped for Roger, he just got everything in Medium. Now he needed more specific sizes. Luckily his usual salesman was on duty. "Hi Frank," he greeted.

"Hi Mark. How can I help you?" he asked.

"I need a couple of dress shirts, one blue, one white, both long sleeves. And Roger here needs a shirt and tie, but I don't know his sizes. Would you mind measuring him?" He asked.

"No problem." Frank turned to Roger. "I just need to get my tape, if you'd excuse me."

Roger gave Mark a look of utter betrayal. He suddenly desperately needed to pee. "Mark... please... I don't need," he murmured weakly. Before Roger knew what was happening Frank had returned with his tape. Roger closed his eyes, feeling them water, but he just did as he was told, allowing Frank to measure him and trying to pretend he was somewhere else.

Mark knew Roger was extremely uncomfortable, but, fortunately, Frank only needed a couple of minutes to get the measurements and calculate Roger's sizes. He marked them down for Roger. Mark turned toward the younger man. "What color shirt do you want?" asked Mark.

"I dunno. Blue," Roger guessed. He liked blue, always had, since the first time he saw the ocean. Somehow even knowing that was only a mirror of the sky, he thought first of the ocean.

Mark smiled. Blue would look good on Roger, plus he had heard that people in blue project an air of innocence on the witness stand. "Are your pants OK or are they too loose?" Mark had guessed about Roger's size, but realized now that he had overestimated slightly. "Be honest," he warned.

Roger tried to pretend his pants were not slipping. Usually he kept them up with an old belt of Mark's or by keeping his hands in the pockets, but the truth was they were a little baggy. "They're fine."

Mark frowned. "Take your hands out of your pockets and turn around slowly for me," said Mark. He wanted to be sure.

Roger took his hands out of the pockets, but kept them plastered to his sides as he turned.

"Just as I thought," said Mark. "Two pairs of khakis, one pair of grey slacks, one pair of black dress pants and two pairs of jeans, if you have them." Mark also selected some ties and black socks for he and Roger to wear to court.

"Anything else?" asked Frank.

"Do you sell winter boots?" asked Mark.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to find those somewhere else," replied Frank.

"Then that will be all." Mark paid the bill and took the bag containing the boxes of clothing.

Roger protested softly. "Please tell me that's all for you," he said, low enough that only Mark heard him.

Mark shook his head. "Some is for me, but you really needed pants that fit. I had to guess at your size before." At Roger's look of discomfort, head to explain further, "Look, Roger. It makes me feel good to give you things. You deserve clothes that fit and are comfortable to wear."

Roger still wasn't comfortable with it, but he knew it was no use protesting, and he knew better. "Okay, Mark." He took the bag, though. The least Mark could do was let him carry that. "Are you ready to go home now?" Roger wanted to get back to his kitchen and laundry, where he belonged

Mark really wasn't finished with shopping. Roger still needed new boots, but they could wait.

"I think we're done at the mall," he confirmed. "But I still want to take you to dinner. I meant what I said before about you deserving a break"

"I'd be happy to cook," Roger insisted meekly. It wasn't that he minded eating out, although he was frightened. What if they encountered Robert? "But.. we could go out."

Mark smiled. "Great. It can be our first date."

Roger grinned, albeit shyly. "That sounds nice."

As they passed the pay phone on the way out, Mark indicated he needed to stop and went over to the phone. He picked up the receiver and dialed a number from memory. He wanted to share one of his favorite restaurants with Roger, so he called for a reservation. Luckily, he was able to get one immediately. Once he was off the phone, he offered his harm to Roger. "Shall we?" he asked and gesticulated at the door.

Roger took Mark's hand. He nodded, hoping they would go somewhere else. He didn't like the mall, he had decided; it was too crowded, making him sweat, making it difficult to breathe.

Mark led Roger back to the car. It had started to snow lightly again, so he brushed off the windshield before unlocking it. After he pulled out of the lot, he headed downtown.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? _


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

After he pulled out of the parking lot at the mall, Mark headed downtown. "I'm taking you to my favorite restaurant. It's a little fancier than the places most teenagers like, but the food is excellent. It's Italian food, so there should be something you like on the menu, but they don't have pizza, or they didn't the last time I was here."

Roger smiled. He couldn't help it. "I like being talked to like that-- treated like that," he told Mark softly. "Like... I'm normal." He shifted, finding comfort within the safety of the seatbelt. "Do they have pasta?" he asked. As much as Roger loved pizza-- gooey-messy-tasty-melting-burning-crunchy-greasy pizza -- he loved some more grown-up foods, too... although he was still messy with spaghetti type noodles.

"All kinds. The have more fancy things too, like veal or eggplant parmigiana." Mark soon pulled in front of the restaurant. It wasn't so fancy that a coat and tie were required, but it was more upscale than most of the other places in town. It's small size made reservations necessary. Mark liked the food, but it was the small touches that made this place his favorite. There were candles and checkered tablecloths on the tables. The wait staff were attentive and would bring menus without price listings if requested. Mark had brought other dates here before, and they didn't bat an eyelash at two men sharing a romantic dinner together, which was rare in Scarsdale. He got out of the car and led Roger to the door.

Roger followed Mark into the restaurant. He liked the tablecloths, too, but for a different reason. They reminded him of the outside tablecloth his mom used in summer--it was red and white checked and plastic; they cleaned it off with a sponge and they always drank lemonade and kool-aid. The tablecloth relaxed him.

The Maitre D' recognized Mark and escorted them to a table near the kitchen. As he left, Mark leaned and made a request to bring the menus without prices. He didn't want Roger to feel guilty about the cost of the meal. He wanted to make sure that Roger would order what he would enjoy instead of picking the cheapest items on the menu.

Which is precisely what Roger would have done, had he seen the menus with the prices on them. Luckily he didn't hear Mark making the request. "What's your favorite thing here?" he asked.

"It depends on a lot of things. In the summer I like their lighter things like salads and pastas tossed with oil. In the winter, I eat their heavier dishes with more meat or cream sauces. Their manicotti is excellent, but so is the chicken parmigiana and the lasagna." Mark chuckled. "I guess I didn't answer your question."

Roger smiled. "That's ok," he said softly. "Do you think they can substitute in different types of pasta?"

"Sure. I do that all the time. But they won't for things that take a long time to make like lasagna."

He smiled. What he really wanted was fettuccini Alfredo, without fettuccini, maybe with fusili or something. Fettuccini reminded him too much of tape worms. "What are you going to have?"

"Since it's cold out, I feel like something rich. Perhaps the veal piccata. I haven't had that for a while."

Four years ago, Roger had learned what veal was. Since then he hadn't eaten it and usually when hearing it mentioned launched into a tirade... but not since Robert. He just nodded and folded his menu shut.

Mark watched Roger's behavior and saw him withdraw the slightest bit. He had a suspicion about the problem, as one of his previous dates had a similar reaction when Mark ate veal. The man was a vegetarian and had become almost violent when he ordered. Needless to say, the relationship ended that night. Mark usually tried to be sensitive, but his date's rally cry to free all cows bordered on crazy. Roger wasn't so comfortable in vocalizing opposition, so Mark figured he should ask. "Roger, are you comfortable with me eating veal? I won't get it if it upsets you."

It wasn't something Roger understood. Since being with Robert, although he never voiced his opinion, he found veal more and more despicable. It was the victimization. Roger knew how it felt to be immobilized. He knew what it was like to want for so long the yearning rent the soul. "It's fine."

Mark wasn't so sure it was fine. As a doctor, he had learned to read small behaviors in order to get the whole picture. Roger was obviously uncomfortable, even though his words said otherwise. Mark knew it was a strain for him to be out with him, so he decided not to order the offending dish. "You know, on second thought I think I'll get the baked ravioli with meat sauce. I'm not sure lemon goes with the cold weather."

Roger knew why Mark was changing his order and it made him flush hot all over, wishing he could have better hidden his true feelings. He hated to inconvenience him. "I... I don't like... thinking about it," he said. "About something being trapped like that." It wasn't veal, but it was the truth, and--Roger hoped--just compensation.

Mark nodded and wondered if he should talk about the Vegetarian Vigilante, as he now thought of him, but their waiter returned before he could say anything. "I'll have the antipasto platter for an appetizer, baked ravioli with meat sauce and a salad of winter greens with balsamic vinaigrette for to accompany. Sparkling grape juice to drink, please."

Roger found that his throat was suddenly very dry and constricted. Mark belonged so perfectly here, it made Roger feel... insufficient. Wrong. "Sprite, please," he said softly. His stomach had twisted itself into knots.

"And to eat sir?" the waiter prompted.

"Just order your main course," suggested Mark. "The antipasto platter is big enough for two. I'm going to need help finishing it."

Roger looked to Mark, giving him his best begging look. "I'm not hungry," he said softly, hoping Mark heard the desperation Roger was afraid to explain. He was suddenly very nervous.

Mark furrowed his brow in concern. "If you don't finish we can always bring home the leftovers. Is there something you want to try?" He could sense Roger's unease but wasn't sure why he was suddenly so uncomfortable. He also hated to be the only person at the table eating. It just seemed rude to him.

Roger shook his head. It was happening again, another panic attack creeping up. He felt sweat on his forehead and shoulders, always an indicator. His arms felt too heavy to move. He quickly named the only thing he could think of. "Lasagna, please. And where's the restroom?"

"Down the hallway to the right," said the waiter, pointing in the right direction.

"Thank you." Roger hopped up from the table and bolted. He locked himself in the bathroom. Once there, he soaked a paper towel and held it against his face, sighing as the cold water relaxed him. He wasn't ready to go outside, but he was breathing again and that had to count for something. Swiftly, Roger began a methodical search for something he could use to calm himself down.

Mark waited at the table. The drinks and appetizer arrived, so he started nibbling. After several minutes he started to become concerned. He doubted that Roger was physically ill but something was wrong. He decided that it probably would be best for him to check on Roger. He walked to the rest room and knocked on the door. "Roger?" he called.

Roger had curled himself up in the corner after a failed attempt to burn himself on a stick of incense. He managed to extinguish the incense but did not harm himself. This left him with only toilet paper and liquid soap. When Mark knocked, he looked up from the corner. "Y-yeah?"

"Are you alright? You've been gone a long time."

"I'm fine," he assured Mark. Nothing to worry about.

"Will you be much longer?"

"D-do you need me?" he asked.

Mark thought for a moment. He didn't really need Roger to come, but he didn't want him to stay too much longer. He decided to be truthful. "I don't exactly need you, but I'm getting a little bit lonely out here. Are you sure you're alright?"

Roger bit his hand and whimpered softly. He didn't feel safe... he didn't feel like he could breathe. But Mark's comfort was his first concern. Roger rose and opened the door.

Mark could tell immediately that Roger was anything but fine. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin and his breath was shallow and irregular. Mark recognized the early signs of an anxiety attack. He reached out and drew Roger into a hug, then guided him back to the table. "Breathe slowly. In. Out. In. Out." He continued the chant until Roger was sitting at the table. Mark went to the coat rack and took out a small bottle. He had decided before Temple to bring the Adivan that David had prescribed in case Roger needed it. He shook out a pill and handed it to Roger with a glass of water.

Roger had some trouble swallowing. The first time he tried the pill was hacked back up, but he popped it back in his mouth and tried again, this time getting it down. He wiped the sticky spit off his hand, where he'd coughed up the pill. "Thank you," he managed to tell Mark. This has not been a fantastic day out.

Mark was actually very proud that Roger had made it so far without having to take a pill. "Keep breathing and just relax until it gets into your system," he advised. "You did well today. That was the first time you were in a crowd since you left his place, wasn't it?"

Roger nodded. He took a sip of water and tried to control his breathing, inhaling to the count of three, holding it, exhaling three. It was working a little bit. "Since leaving home," he amended Mark's earlier comment. With Robert, Roger was never in a crowd. Sometimes Robert had friends over, but there were never too many people.

"What set you off just now?" Mark asked. "You were fine at Temple, but that I can understand since it's familiar. You were only a little anxious at the mall, but here you seemed to break down. Do you know why you started to panic?"

Roger shook his head. "I don't know," he said. He truly didn't. "It... reminded me of home... there was the thing with veal... I don't belong... I don't know," Roger summarized finally. He didn't know what had happened, but once it started, he knew the presence of an outside party took the situation swiftly from bad to worse.

Mark accepted that. He didn't have a lot of experience dealing with anxiety attacks. Usually, he'd refer his patients to David or another psychologist in the area. The advantage of private practice was that the patients could afford to go elsewhere if need be. Mark took a couple of bites of the appetizer. "Will you be alright to stay to eat?" he enquired.

Roger nodded. "Can I eat?" he asked. He wouldn't have been completely surprised if Mark said no after a display like that. Still, as Roger calmed down the presence of food made his stomach growl.

"Of course you may eat!" Mark said. Mark realized that Roger had some issues with food and knew he ate less when he lived with Robert, but he wondered how much of that was restrictions Robert had imposed upon Roger. He couldn't imagine withholding food as a punishment. People needed to eat. Mark indicated the antipasto with his hands. "Dig in. Have you ever had antipasto before?"

Roger shook his head. He took a piece of cheese off the plate and nibbled at it, then smiled. It tasted good. "This is good," he murmured. He continued nibbling, enjoying the food.

Mark was happy that Roger could relax a little. Soon the food came. He bit into one of the cheese-filled pillows of his dish and savored the flavor. It was exactly what he wanted on such a cold night. "Mmm... this is heavenly," he commented. "How's the lasagna?"

"It's ok," Roger replied without even thinking. He hasn't even tasted it yet, but that didn't matter. He took a bite. It was delicious, he had to admit, and felt good in his stomach. He ate faster.

Mark dug into his ravioli and salad and watched Roger consume his meal. He was happy that Roger enjoyed the food. The pill seemed to be working as Roger was not nearly as tense as he had been. "I think I've found a new dish to add to my list of favorites," he commented.

Roger glanced to Mark. He swallowed a half-chewed bite of lasagna. "Ravioli?" he asked. He was cutting his food as he asked, and once the sounds were out of his mouth Roger stuffed in the lasagna. He wasn't stopping until he had finished eating.

Mark nodded. He had a feeling that Roger was attempting to get out of there as quickly as possible, even though he was feeling better. Mark was relieved that Roger felt up to eating. He had been concerned. He knew that it would be a long time before Roger was truly at ease in public, but at least he could somewhat enjoy their first date. "Do you want to try a bite?" Mark asked.

Roger nodded. "Yes, please," he said. Mark's ravioli did look good. "You can try some of mine," he offered in return, more than glad to share his lasagna if Mark wanted it. "It's very good," he added.

"I'd love to try it." Mark held out a bite of Ravioli on his fork to Roger. "Shall we feed each other?"

Roger blushed. He speared a bite of lasagna and held it out for Mark in response. He couldn't stop blushing. The traditional cuteness of the act made Roger feel completely un-self-conscious, and completely Mark's.

Mark leaned in and took the bite from the fork. It was good lasagna. "Mmm..." He smacked his lips. "They really know how to make it here."

Roger smiled. He bit the ravioli off the fork, chewed and swallowed. "This is fantastic. You really know how to pick a good restaurant!" Roger praised.

"I'm glad you like it. I figured it would be a good place for a first date." Mark ate a few more bites of ravioli. "I kind of stumbled upon this place a few years ago. I know some other places you might also enjoy."

Roger smiled. "You're very sweet." He started to take another bite, and found that he didn't want to. "Could we take this home?" he asked. "I can't finish."

Mark nodded. "I'm getting a little full myself." He waved the waiter over and, in a low voice, asked him to box up the meals. He also requested him to wrap two slices of the restaurant's specialty cheesecake to take with them.

In a few minutes the waiter returned with the check and three take-away containers. Mark paid with his credit card without glancing at the bill. He didn't want Roger to see the total and he thought that if he didn't know himself, there was less chance of Roger finding out exactly how upscale this restaurant was. Once the bill had been settled, he put on his coat and offered Roger his arm. "May I escort you home?"

Roger smiled and rested his hand on Mark's arm like he had seen done in the movies. He felt heat and calm radiate from Mark's body and wash over him. His airways felt open completely for the first time since they left for temple that morning. As he followed Mark to the car, Roger caught himself smiling. The snow was falling; he saw it stick to his bangs and felt it on any exposed inch of skin. This much outdoor activity was foreign, and felt good.

Mark guided Roger to the car, and being caught up in the moment, opened the door for him. Once Roger had seated himself inside the vehicle, Mark shut the door and got in the driver's side. The roads were a bit slippery, so Mark drove slowly, following the familiar streets. "I had a great time tonight," Mark said. "I think our first date was a success."

"Yes," Roger agreed. If he overlooked the minor panic attack in the bathroom, he would say it went off without a hitch. "If I had just met you, Mark, I would most certainly go out with you again," Roger informed him. He shifted awkwardly on his chair. "I... it's hard to believe you were single. You're amazing."

Mark blushed. "Thanks, Roger. That means a lot to me." The past couple of years had been difficult for Mark dating-wise. He'd only been on a few dates. Scarsdale only had a small gay population and Mark was wary of the club scene in the city. He was fortunate have a great guy practically fall in his lap. Mark could already feel a deep connection with Roger, one that transcended the age difference or the pain in both their lives. He could image a future with Roger, something that he never experienced with his previous lovers. "Although I wish you didn't have to be hurt for it to happen, I'm very grateful that you came to me."

Roger smiled. He had to agree, at least partly. When he looked back, though, he could not imagine his life had he not met Robert. He didn't know who he would be. Roger accepted what had happened, as twisted as his comprehension of the facts was. "I'm glad I met you, too." Roger imagined a future with Mark. He wasn't sure what the future would bring, how he wanted his life to be, but he knew he wanted to spend it with Mark.

Mark steered the car around the corner and drove up his street. The snowman on the front lawn made the house look very inviting. A dusting of snow was on its carrot nose. The timers had turned on the lights, so although the sky was dark, the house looked warm and inviting. For a moment, Mark could almost picture a dog and two or three children playing in the yard. He pulled into the driveway. "Watch your step going into the house. I bet it's icy."

Roger nodded. He unbuckled his seatbelt, then asked, "What can I carry?" He knew Mark had quite a few bags in the back of the car. Roger would have been happy to carry all of them, even if it took a few trips. He realized he didn't want Mark carry things. It wasn't that he feared Mark would punish him. Rather, Roger wanted to take care of Mark.

Mark picked up the takeout containers and then pointed out the clothing bags in the car. "Could you get those other bags from the backseat, too?"

Roger took the containers of food from Mark, then grabbed the bags from the back. Once he was carrying everything, he headed up to the house. Roger tried to be careful, but icy paths and growing boys don't mix. Roger held the bags aloft as his knees crashed to the floor. "OOw. Um. Mark? C-could you help me up, please?" he asked. Roger was afraid to move his arms in case the bags fell in the snow, leaving him in a sort of "touchdown" pose.

Mark went over and grabbed half of the bags with one arm and pulled Roger up with the other. "Are you hurt?" he asked as they made their way carefully to the front door.

Roger shook his head. "I'm fine," he assured Mark. When he reached the door, Roger felt a victorious surge. He had made it! And only fell down once! This was coupled with the relief of being home after a long day.

Mark was also relieved to be home. He had enjoyed the day, especially the date with Roger. "Why don't you hang up your new clothes," suggested Mark. "I can put the leftovers from the restaurant away while you do that."

At first Roger's instinct was to nod, then he looked upstairs and hesitated. It was dark upstairs. They hadn't been home all day, and it was dark, and someone-- Robert -- someone could be up there waiting for him... "M-maybe..." But he didn't want Mark to go upstairs alone, either. "Maybe can I stay with you?"

Mark nodded, but he was confused. "What's wrong?" he asked. He was concerned with Roger's sudden lack of confidence. Why didn't he want to go upstairs?

"Nothing," Roger replied quickly. He didn't know how to explain it to Mark. He didn't know how to tell him what it was like to know he was safe and still be afraid.

Mark didn't quite believe him but decided it would be best to let it slide and talk to him later. "Let's put the food away first, then hang up our new clothes."

Roger nodded. That was much better. "Thank you." He took the food towards the kitchen and turned on the light shortly before stepping into the kitchen. Roger thought his heart would burst. Then the room was empty, and he could breathe again. He placed the leftover pasta and, unbeknownst to him, the cake into the refrigerator. The issue of going upstairs scared him, though. He didn't know what to do. Sure, his logical mind knew there was no one upstairs, but he couldn't reason himself out of his fear. Mark wasn't scared, and Roger's inclination was to let him go upstairs first, but if there was something wrong, it was his fault if something happened, if...

Mark followed behind Roger and separated the food containers from the other packages. "I got dessert as well. I know we're both full, but I thought it would be a nice treat for later."

"That sounds good," Roger murmured. He was a strong supporter of all things sweetened and dessert-qualifying.

They put the containers in the fridge. Mark took a few of the other packages and started towards the stairs. "When we get these put away, how about sitting on couch and watching an old movie?"

Roger felt tired, but he wanted to spend more time with Mark. Sleeping beside someone built a strong emotional connection. Mark's mere presence relaxed Roger, and he knew that was more than what passed between when they were awake. He nodded. "That sounds nice," he said. "What would you like to watch?"

Mark thought for a moment. "I'm kind of in the mood for a musical. How about The Sound of Music?"

"That sounds nice," Roger said again. "I like The Sound of Music." He had liked it even when he was small and didn't completely understand it.

"I always get a kick out of the nuns stealing the car parts. Not to mention that Captain von Trap is rather handsome. I think he was my first crush."

Roger grinned. "I love those nuns," he said. His favorite part was when they confessed but didn't try to fix the car. The morality interested him. "I like that song, too. Edelweiss."

"Yeah, me too. Most of the songs are pretty good. I used to sing I Have Confidence before exams and job interviews to psyche myself up."

He smiled. "I bet it worked, too," Roger said. He had used a lucky toy when he was younger, a little metal soldier.

Mark nodded. "Most of the time, it did. I didn't always get the job but it helped me to relax enough to do my best. I also remember doing a skit with Do Re Mi at a language camp during college. We borrowed the curtains from the dorms and made up new words to the song."

"Do you still remember the words?" Roger asked. He also wondered how the curtains had been used. Were they substituted for stage curtains? Toga'd? But he didn't ask. It seemed potentially offensive.

Mark shook his head. "Sorry. It's been about ten years. I can remember how scratchy the curtains felt against my skin, though. Let this be a lesson to you: never wear a kilt made from dorm room curtains."

Roger pressed his hand to his mouth and laughed. He imagined Mark wearing a skirt made from flower'd curtains. "I'll remember that," he promised Mark.

"You better! Unfortunately, I was somewhat of a purist when it came to kilts and was allergic to the detergent they used to wash them. The rash didn't go away for two weeks! Roger, learn from my experience so my suffering will not be for nought!" Mark made a dramatic gesture and kneeled before Roger. "Promise me you will not repeat my mistake!"

Mark's story made Roger laugh more and more. He imagined the allergic reaction there, and how uncomfortable poor Mark would be. When Mark knelt the position made Roger uncomfortable. He still thought sexual things about Mark, but this made him blush. He knelt down and hugged Mark. "I'll never wear an allergic sheet kilt," he promised.

"Then my life's work is complete. I have spared you the agony of my youth." Mark returned the hug then stood up. "Now, shall we watch the movie?"

Roger smiled and nodded. He stood and brushed his knees. "C-could I get a blanket?" he asked softly. It was a cold night, after all.

Mark smiled. "Good idea. It's rather chilly. Do you want hot chocolate?"

Yes, please. I'll get a blanket upstairs," he murmured. Roger wanted to look into every room upstairs; he wanted to be completely certain there was no one and nothing lurking. He made a hurried but thorough check and returned a few minutes later carrying a warm blanket.

It took Mark a few minutes to heat the milk for the hot chocolate. While he waited, he got the cheesecake out of the fridge and put it on plates. He then mixed the milk with the hot chocolate mix and put everything on a tray. He managed to get back to the living room without spilling anything. He placed the tray on the coffee table, stuck the tape in the VCR and joined Roger on the couch. "I brought our desert, too."

Roger smiled. "It all looks great," he said. "Thank you, Mark." He picked up a mug of hot chocolate and wrapped his hands around it, warmed by the hot liquid within. "Mmm." Roger inhaled the steam, then took a sip. "'mazing."

Mark took a sip of his own mug and nodded in agreement. "There's nothing like drinking hot chocolate and cuddling on the couch with someone you love on a cold night." To emphasize his point, he put his arm around Roger. He pressed play on the remote control and the two sat in silence for a while, absorbed in the story on screen.

Roger wrapped the blanket around his and Mark's shoulders. As the film progressed he found himself leaning more and more against Mark, his eyes slowly closing. It had been a long day. It wasn't long before Roger was putting most of his weight on Mark. He moaned and let himself lie down with his head in Mark's lap. He didn't even ask, afraid Mark would say no.

Mark smiled, happy that Roger felt comfortable enough to fall asleep on him. He continued to watch the movie and stroked Roger's soft hair. He felt happier than he had been in a long time. He could easily see himself with Roger in this position years from now. He glanced down at Roger. While he was sleeping in Mark's lap, he appeared innocent and peaceful. Mark said a silent prayer that one day, he'd be at peace while he was awake as well.

After the movie ended, Mark wondered what to do with Roger. He didn't want to wake him up, so he slid out from under him. He put the unfinished cheesecake in the fridge and the mugs in the sink and then came back to the couch. He bent down and gathered up Roger. He was surprisingly light, so Mark carried him up the stairs.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? _


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger inhaled a mouthful of steam. He felt it almost solid in his mouth, the warmth as it traveled down his throat, then he opened his mouth and coughed. Roger's thin frame shook. He grasped the sink with both hands and spat hard into the basin. It helped clear his throat a little, but overall he only felt warm, which at least beat cold. Roger turned the knob to shut off the faucet. Sitting in the steam wasn't clearing his throat.

He left the bathroom and pulled his sweater on--wet wool would've been worse than anything else. Roger trailed his fingertips along the wall to ground himself. He needed to do something... what was it... oh, right. Casserole. He needed to make a casserole for dinner, then bedtime and he could rest. Roger opened a cookbook, sneezed, and shuffled out of the kitchen in triple-socked feet to find a tissue. Luckily Mark kept a healthy supply.

Roger shook his head and his brain rattled. He didn't want to cook. He wanted to curl up in bed and feel sorry for himself. He picked up the telephone and dialed Mark's number at work.

Mark was in the midst of filling out his thirty-eighth report of the day. The change in the weather had brought with it a dramatic increase in the number of patients with colds and flu. The sheer numbers had kept him incredibly busy and his hands were starting to chap from washing them so often. Not all of the patients were content to heed his advice of plenty of rest, fluids and chicken soup and a couple of the women had gotten hostile when he refused to prescribe antibiotics. All in all, it was a long day.

His office phone rang, giving him a welcome distraction. "Hello," he said.

His receptionist spoke briefly. "Dr. Cohen, there's a man named Roger on the phone. Can I put him through?"

Mark wondered why Roger was calling. He never had called the office before. "Of course, Linda. In the future, you can just put any calls from him right through."

"Alright, Dr. Cohen. Please hold while I transfer you."

Mark waited and heard the soft click as the line changed. "Roger? Are you alright?"

"Yes," Roger replied softly, his voice slightly rough from coughing all morning. Suddenly he felt sick with anxiety. Maybe called Mark at work hadn't been a good idea. After all, he might be busy. What if he thought it was an emergency and left a patient to speak with Roger? Sure, a lady with a cold was no comparison to a burning house, but... "Is it all right that I called you?"

"Yes, it's fine. I know you won't call unless you need to speak to me and if it's really a bad time, my receptionist will let you know. What can I do for you?"

"I just..." Roger started, then trailed off. He licked his suddenly very dry lips. "I wondered if... would it be okay if I didn't make dinner tonight?" he asked. "I can if you want," he added hastily. Roger still feared sometimes that Mark would get angry. He wasn't afraid of being thrown out anymore, though.

Mark immediately knew something was wrong but knew Roger wouldn't admit it over the phone. It would take a lot to keep Roger from making dinner. "Of course it's okay. I'll pick up takeout on the way home. Is there anything you would like me to get?"

"Whatever you like," Roger said. He wasn't sure how much he would be able to eat. Even starving he would have voiced no opinion.

"How does Thai food sound? I haven't had it in a while."

"Sounds good," Roger murmured. "That sounds really good." He looked around and shivered. It was cold in the house. "Do you think you'll be home soon?"

"I shouldn't be too much longer. I just have to finish the paperwork from today. I'll probably be home in an hour or so."

"Okay. I-I'll see you soon, then." He wanted to add that he was excited to see Mark, but decided not to. Mark might feel pressured.

"See you soon. Oh, and Roger, if you don't mind, could you light a fire in the fireplace? It's kind of a cold and miserable day and I kind of feel like having a fire tonight."

"Okay. I'll do that now," Roger said. He looked over to the fireplace and realized that once the fire was lit, he wouldn't be able to leave it alone. He had always been afraid of fires.

"Thanks Roger. I'll try to hurry."

"Thank you. I love you, Mark."

"I love you, too, Roger. See you when I get home."

An hour later, Mark pulled into his driveway. He took the cartons of food from the passenger seat and headed into the house. He could smell the crisp scent of wood smoke permeating the fresh winter air and breathed deeply to enjoy it. It was one of his favorite smells. He turned his key in the lock and stepped into the house. "Hi, honey, I'm home," Mark called, then giggled. He always had wanted to say that. He waited and didn't here a response from Roger. That was strange. Mark placed the food on the counter and called Roger's name.

Roger's eyes opened. He moaned softly, sat up and shook his head. He felt so exhausted. "M-Mark?" he asked. If anyone else was in the house, Roger knew he was in trouble. He stood and shuffled towards the kitchen.

Mark heard Roger stir and met him at the entry. "Oh, there you are." He then noticed how stiffly Roger was moving. His eyes were red and half closed. There was a slight rasp in his breathing. His cheeks were flushed with fever. In short, Roger was sick.

Roger smiled. "Mark," he moaned softly, and hugged him. He didn't feel the usual flood of relief at Mark's arrival home. He felt too tired for that.

Mark returned the hug, then used his hands to feel Roger's cheeks and forehead. They were burning hot. "How long have you been feeling sick?" he asked gently.

"Umm... I guess a day or two," Roger replied. He should have said something sooner. Mark would have fixed him. "I don't feel so great."

Mark nodded. "There's a cold going around and the change in weather makes people more susceptible. I've seen it a lot today. Unfortunately all you can do is get rest, drink fluids and stay warm. Why don't you lie on the couch while I get you some dinner?"

"Okay," Roger said. He feinted heading for the couch, then followed Mark into the kitchen. "Why do you think I'm sick?" he asked. He hadn't been around anyone but Mark, and Mark was well.

"It could have been a number of things. Germs float around everywhere. You might have picked it up at temple or when we went out on Saturday. Or I could have brought it back from the office. I wash my hands often but maybe you got it from my clothes or something. Plus you're under a lot of stress, so that may weaken you're defenses."

"Mark, what if God's mad at me?" Roger asked. Ordinarily Roger would consider this foolish, because he didn't believe in that sort of God but in a loving, just being.

"Roger, God doesn't give people colds because he's mad at them. They just happen. Besides, why would God be mad at you? Well, maybe some of the older people at Temple would think being gay would make him mad, but I'm gay too and I don't have a cold."

"I don't know," Roger murmured. Lately it wasn't just his gayness, it was everything. He felt like he messed up more often than he didn't. "I'm sorry... I guess I'll be laying around for a few days."

Mark gave him a reassuring smile. "Roger, there's nothing to be sorry about. I'll just have to take care of you until you're better. Although don't expect anything I try to cook to be fancy. I can make grilled cheese and heat up tinned soup, so we may have to live on takeout for a few days." He had finished putting the food onto dishes and grabbed some cutlery. "Why don't we eat in the living room, in front of the fire?"

"That sounds nice." Roger took as much as he could and quickly headed into the living room. He felt very unsteady. He sat by the fire and organized everything as neatly as possible. "How was work today?"

"Busy. You're not the only one with a cold. And most people won't accept that it will go away on it's own. Four little old ladies almost lynched me because they wanted me to write them a prescription for antibiotics to get rid of the cold. Unfortunately, antibiotics don't work on viruses but try telling that to the over seventy population of this town."

Roger laughed again. He had never tried that one and didn't think he ever would. "I tried the steam today, but it didn't help," he said softly. He enjoyed the image of four very elderly ladies attacking Mark with their umbrellas. He didn't know why he chose umbrellas, but he did, and it was very amusing. "My mom always said sitting in the steam helped your throat," he offered.

"My mother always had me snort up salt water to clear my nose. Not very pleasant, but it does work."

Roger laughed again. He had never tried that one and didn't think he ever would. "I tried the steam today, but it didn't help," he said.

Mark frowned. "I'll make you some tea with lemon and honey. That always soothes my throat."

Roger shook his head. He rested his hand on Mark's arm. "Can you just stay with me? While you're home?" he added. He didn't want Mark to think he wanted him to stay home from work or anything like that, but now that Mark was home, Roger wanted to be with him.

"Of course." He had finished eating so he placed his dishes on the coffee table and retrieved the afghan from the back of the couch. He spread it across Roger's lap and then slid under the cover next to him. Mark reached around Roger's shoulders and pulled him closer. "How's this?"

Roger leaned against Mark and hugged him around the waist. "Thank you," he murmured. He nuzzled Mark's shoulder gently. "Mark, can I still sleep with you? Or should I sleep somewhere else tonight? I don't want to get you sick."

Mark smiled. "That's sweet that you're concerned about me, but I'm exposed to colds all day at work. Of course you can sleep with me. I've already been exposed to the cold."

Roger smiled and nuzzled closer. He loved being near Mark. "When I'm near you, I feel better," he said. "I made up a routine for when you're not here... did I tell you?" he asked, aware that he hadn't.

Mark shook his head and cuddled Roger closer. "No you didn't. Tell me about it."

"I wash the dishes I used to make breakfast, then take a shower, then wash the dishes you used to eat. Then I clean all of one kind of thing. Dusting, sweeping, mopping, laundry, or bathroom depending on the day. I read for an hour and then--well between each of those I spend an hour or half an hour or so working on dinner."

"You really do keep yourself busy. What have you read lately?"

Roger shrugged. "I take things off your bookshelf. Always put them back, though," he added.

Mark smiled. "That's fine. Books are meant to be read. They do no good gathering dust on the shelves. Though since you moved in there hasn't been any dust."

Roger beamed at the praise. He liked knowing that he was really helping, and that Mark particularly cared. "Is there something else you want me to do?" he asked. "I have extra time."

Mark considered for a moment but then shook his head. "I can't think of anything. You take such good care of the place that I can't think of anything that needs to be done. You find something you like to do with that time."

"Oh." Roger hadn't thought about things he enjoyed in some time. He'd been twelve or thirteen years old the last time he considered what he enjoyed, young enough that this mainly included snowball fights and his brother's Atari. "I like Huck Finn a lot," he said. "That's my favorite of your books."

"You should read Twain's other stories. I really like A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. You should also try some Farley Mowat if you like adventure stories. Most of his take place in the Canadian Wild."

"Have you ever been to Canada?" Roger asked. "It's funny... it's not that far to drive, but I've never been."

"I went with my family when I was ten. We went to Niagra Falls and then Toronto, drove along the St. Lawrence River and into Quebec and then went to Prince Edward Island and Nova Scotia. Cindy got to see Green Gables and I made the family go to this fort where they act like it's the 1700s and everyone spoke French."

Roger smiled. That sounded like fun, everyone pretending it was the 1700s. He remembered a Renaissance Faire he'd gone to as a child that was like that, and he had loved it. "Do you speak French?"

"Very badly. I remember most of my high school French, but talking about your aunt's red skirt can only take you so far. I can ask where the bathroom is and order coffee."

"I know the one phrase I'll need if I ever go to France. Parlez-vous anglais?" Roger asked with a truly horrible accent.

Mark laughed. "One day I'll take you to France. I'll ask for the washroom and you can demand that the rude Parisians speak English." he promised. "Where's the farthest you traveled?"

Roger laughed. "I thought I was asking if they knew how to speak English!" he said, truly apologetic. "When I was maybe nine years old we went out to California. I liked it there a lot. My dad was doing this work thing there, so we spent a semester in Los Angeles. We got to go to Disneyland and the beach. I liked the ocean... but it was fall, and instead of rain there were hot winds."

"There were beaches in Canada, too, but the air was cool. People still swam though. I'd miss the rain if I went to California. And the colored leaves."

"I missed it, too. And the snow. But the beaches were nice, and it was usually nineties degrees or more, and you could get french fries. And my teacher was this mega-hippie."

"That would've been interesting. What kids of things did he or she do?"

"She had us sit on the lawn and sing songs in Spanish while she played guitar. We made masks for Day of the Dead, and sang Easter songs on Easter and had a little carnival for Purim. Any holiday, we celebrated."

"I wish my teachers would have celebrated holidays. If we were lucky we got special word problems for Halloween and Valentine's Day when I was younger."

"Jack has seventeen pieces of candy. Andrew has eight. How many pieces of candy do they have?" Roger asked, trying to think up as many fun word problems as he could. "Cupid has two hundred arrows and 73.5 accuracy. How many people will be falling in love?"

"Exactly. Though yours were more interesting. We got things like if a ghost and a half met two and a half goblins and they all turned into witches, how many brooms would we need?" He chuckled. "Though those were some of my best memories of school. Did you have any other interesting teachers?"

"Some. Some not so good... in fifth grade we had to do reports on different countries and my teacher couldn't find mine on the map... I think it was in west Asia but all I really remember is that she couldn't find it. People like that shouldn't teach." Roger covered his mouth and coughed. "I know it's early, but maybe we could head to bed?"

Mark stood up. "Yes, that's probably a good idea. You need your rest." Mark helped Roger stand up and they made their way up the stairs and into the bedroom. "You probably should wear some pajamas instead of just your boxers tonight. You need the warmth."

"Okay." Roger fetched his pajamas from the drawer and pulled them on. "I love pajamas... did I ever tell you that?" he asked. "My parents bought me pajamas all the time. Birthday jammies. Christmas jammies. All the time." He crawled into bed, keeping to the side until he had Mark with him.

"My parents also liked giving me pajamas. I even got a pair for graduating from Med School." Mark leaned over and pulled out a pair with stethoscopes and syringes on them. "I think they had them specially made. Still, I appreciate the thought." He undressed quickly and put them on, then slid into the bed next to Roger.

Roger grinned and wrapped his arms around Mark. "I love you," he whispered. He nuzzled Mark's chest gently and closed his eyes. "I don't know where I'd be without you, Mark."

"I love you, too, Roger." Mark gathered the younger man into his arms and snuggled into his warmth. In a few short minutes, his eyes also closed.

_to be continued!_

_Reviews would be very much appreciated... please? _


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: Rent was created by Jonathan Larson. Someone else now has the rights to it; I'm not sure who, but not me. I'm only having a bit of fun. Please don't sue me... pretty please?

Roger nibbled on his thumbnail. This was more than a little uncomfortable. He didn't want to do this. Well, he did, but he didn't want to... well... he wanted Robert put away, he just wished he could do it without having to see him again. "Mark?" he whispered.

"I'm here," Mark replied. "I'll be sitting in the front row. If you get nervous, just look at me, OK?" He rubbed Roger's back to soothe him. "You'll do fine. Just tell the truth and know that I'm here for you, no matter what." He reached over and straightened Roger's tie. Roger looked terrified, and Mark couldn't help but feel nervous himself.

Roger shifted closer and rested against Mark, trying to just focus on breathing. Mark was right. Of course he was. All Roger needed to do was tell the truth, but somehow he couldn't remember. Mark said it wasn't his fault, so it wasn't. Right? But Roger knew he could be annoying. He had trouble listening, had trouble obeying. He shook his head. "I-it'll be okay," he said, trying to convince himself.

Mark gave him one last hug. "You'll do fine." He looked at his watch. "The bailiff will probably be here in a minute. I have someone saving a seat for me up front. Should I go now or do you want me to stay until they get you?"

"I'll be okay," Roger replied quickly. Things would go considerably worse, Roger knew, if he couldn't at least look to Mark. He hugged him one last time.

Mark returned the hug and then quickly made his way into the courtroom. The district attorney had informed the judge that he would be entering late, but it was still an awkward entrance. He quietly slipped into his seat at the end of the first row, right behind the DA. He did not have to wait long. A moment later, Roger's name was called and he was led into the courtroom.

Roger shuddered. He hunched his shoulders as though perhaps he could make himself invisible. He was careful to watch the floor. Maybe if he didn't see Robert, Robert wouldn't see him. Roger swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth and sat.

Mark glanced over to his former X-ray technician. The man was glowering at Roger with a look of hatred that could have melted steel. Mark shivered and turned his attention towards the lawyer who had risen to question Roger. She asked him to state his name for the record then started in on the harder questions.

"When did you first meet the accused?"

Roger opened his mouth and couldn't speak. He tried again, taking a deep breath. "A... about..." He closed his eyes. _I'm in Mark's bedroom_. Roger rubbed his arm, pretending he felt Mark holding him. "It was about three years ago."

She continued to ask questions about where they met and the early part of the relationship. Mark was proud of Roger. His voice was quiet, but steady and he had answered all the questions with little hesitation. Then the questioning took a different line.

"When did your relationship become sexual?"

Roger rubbed his arm. Mark wouldn't ask that. "My fourteenth birthday," Roger murmured. "It was s'posed to be a birthday present and..." He wasn't sure if he should continue. He had been lectured by the district attorney and knew he wasn't supposed to volunteer too much information, but there were questions that wouldn't be asked and things he wanted put into evidence. He glanced at Robert, then quickly looked down. "It hurt a lot," he whispered.

The DA nodded. "At this time I would like to remind the jury that the age of consent in this state is sixteen. Roger, how much time passed between your fourteenth birthday and the time when you left home?"

"I left home that day," Roger supplied. He assumed this meant he had been out of line supplying extra information for the previous question, so he left it at the fact. If they wanted to know why, he would supply an answer. Roger didn't want to do anything that would make them disqualify his testimony.

"And you moved in with the accused?" At Roger's nod, she continued, "After you moved in with him, did you attempt to make contact with your family again?"

Roger shook his head. "I... my dad was... he was really mad at me for being a f—being gay." He glanced at Mark, and began to panic. He'd almost said the word he wasn't supposed to say. It didn't count, right? He could still stay with Mark? "And Robert didn't want me calling them."

"Did you have any contact with people other than Robert from the time you moved in with him?"

"S-sometimes he had friends over. Or I had to go to the hospital," Roger explained. "I... had accidents."

"What kind of accidents?" They had rehearsed this. Mark remembered how uncomfortable Roger had been when trying to describe his injuries. He continued to look at Roger sending feelings of warmth and encouragement his way.

Roger rubbed his arm. "Well... o-once I fell asleep and I burned dinner. I didn't mean to but, I messed up and... and he had to... just make sure it didn't happen again," he replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"What did Robert do?" the lawyer encouraged. Mark's eyes never left Roger.

"M... he... he... he tied me to the radiator and put it on so I would learn not to... so I would learn," Roger concluded.

"Were you injured as the result of this 'punishment'?"

Roger looked down and nodded. "I got burned."

"Were there other instances where you were injured as the result of punishments?"

He nodded once more. "I got cut sometimes. Or I got sick... sometimes I had to stay on the porch for a few days. So I wouldn't get hurt."

Mark winced. He wished he could have protected Roger from all of those injuries. In the days that Roger was recovering from his cold, he had tried to help Roger see that he didn't deserve those punishments. He had brought it up with the lawyer. She wished to bring up the reasons for the punishments herself, so the jury would immediately see how unfair they were. If Roger insisted that he was deserving, she'd call attention to the psychological effects of his time with Robert. He braced himself for the next question.

"What kinds of actions resulted in punishments?"

"Well... I... if I was bad," Roger answered. That made sense, didn't it? He was bad, so he was punished. "I didn't do the dishes one time. O-or one time I called Mark and I told him what was going on. And at first I talked back to him. But I learned."

"To clarify, you were punished for not doing your chores, talking back and contacting other people. Are there other actions that you were punished for?"

"W-well..." Roger took a deep breath. This one was embarrassing. This was the one time he hadn't been sure, and the one thing he hadn't told Mark. "One time he wanted me to show how loyal I was to him and I wouldn't do it."

"How did he ask you to prove his loyalty?"

"I... I was supposed to do something for his friend."

"We need you to be more specific. What were you supposed to do for his friend?"

"I... I was supposed to suck on his..." Roger said quickly, then blushed brightly and didn't know what to say.

Mark was aghast. This showed another level of Robert's depravity. He couldn't imagine being asked to be so intimate with a stranger.

"You were expected to perform oral sex?" the lawyer clarified. "What was your punishment for refusing?"

Roger was trembling. He couldn't do this. He couldn't... "He hit me with his belt and put me outside," he whispered. He chewed his thumbnail.

The DA realized that Roger needed to calm down a bit and requested a fifteen minute recess. As soon as the judge granted it, Mark stepped forward to comfort Roger. "You're doing great," Mark said while taking Roger into his arms.

Roger wrapped an arm around Mark's waist and pressed himself against Mark. "C-can we go home now?" he asked. "Please? I-I was good, right, Mark?"

"I'm sorry, Roger, but we can't go yet. You're not finished testifying. You're doing so well, though. I'm very proud of you." He hugged Roger tighter and started to rub his back, concentrating on comforting him through touch.

Roger tightened his hug. He nodded. "Okay." Really, Roger had known he wasn't finished. He had to ask, though. "Mark, are you angry that I didn't tell you before about... about everything?"

"No, I'm not angry at you. I'm proud that you were able to tell the court about it, though. I'm mad at Robert for asking you to do that. He had no right." Mark continued to hold Roger. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

Roger nodded. He was beginning to learn that Mark wouldn't judge him for anything in his past, and it was fantastically liberating. "Can we make a plan for tonight? I just wanted to have something I could think about while I'm answering their questions."

Mark smiled. "Of course. What do you want to do tonight?"

"Anything. Something nice. We could... rent a movie, or order a pizza, or go to the library?"

"Let's rent a couple of movies, order pizza and make popcorn. We'll spend the evening cuddling on the couch while stuffing our faces."

Roger smiled. "Really?" he asked. "That sounds really fun."

"We can pick up the movies on the way home, and if there's anything you want, we'll get that too."

"Thank you, Mark." Roger glances at the clock. A moment later, they were called back into court.

Mark took his seat at the front of the spectator seats and offered Roger a smile of support. He knew his ordeal was far from over but hoped Roger would be strong and not let the questions get to him. The District Attorney made her way back to the witness stand.

"Now, Roger, what was the worst punishment you received?"

Roger thought for a moment. "Sometimes I had to be locked outside. I would get very hungry and very cold. And I didn't like being tied to the radiator. Sometimes I had to go to the hospital."

"How many times did you have to go to the hospital and for what reasons?"

"I don't remember how many times. Maybe five? Sometimes bones broke. Once he cut my arm before putting me outside. I-I deserved it, though! I'd been bad. I broke a plate in the kitchen. The cut got infected, so we went to the hospital."

"During your stay with the accused, what were his expectations of you? Did he have any rules you were to follow?"

Roger nodded. "But I was very good. I kept his house clean and had dinner waiting when he got home. And I did all the bedroom things! Just... not with other people."

"Were 'bedroom things' part of the rules he had for you?"

"Yes. T-that's how you're a good boyfriend. That's what he told me. If you say no you don't love him."

Mark felt sick at that revelation. Looking around, he could tell he wasn't the only person who felt that way.

"Were you ever asked to perform sexual acts against your will?"

"Well... I... I don't understand," Roger said. "I'm sorry. If it made him happy then I would do it."

"Did he ever ask you to do these things when you were not ready to or you weren't in the mood to?"

"Yes-- of course-- I mean... it... hurt sometimes, but it made him happy, so I didn't mind."

Mark wished the DA would stop asking questions about Roger's sex life. It wasn't necessary to go into every detail. He could tell Roger was shaken. However, he knew that there were questions that needed to be answered.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, I now submit to you the following medical records for Roger Davis, a.k.a. Joshua Feinburg. Let the record reflect this as exhibit 38-b. Roger, according to these records, you went to see Dr. Mark Cohen about a fractured arm earlier this year. How did you sustain this injury?"

Roger lowered his eyes. "I was bad," he replied softly. He preferred not to think about it. He didn't like realizing that he was that person.

"What were you punished for?" asked the DA. Mark held his breath. It had taken a lot for Roger to admit to him what had happened. He captured Roger's gaze and then nodded, letting him know that it was okay to continue.

Roger swallowed. "I... was..." He looked at Mark, then quickly looked away. "I was touching myself," he said, feeling that he had blown any possible chance at seeming innocent.

Unfortunately, the questions didn't stop there. "Roger, did you have to follow specific rules regarding sexual activity?"

"Um... y-yes... I wasn't supposed to have... orgasms... when he wasn't there and, also, I wasn't supposed to t-touch myself or think about other guys, ever. Because that would be cheating," Roger explained.

"How did he enforce these rules?" The lawyer kept her voice free from emotion. In their briefing she had explained to Roger that she wanted the jury to know the full extent of the control Robert had over him.

Roger bit his lip. "If I broke them, he punished me. And he had this, um... this..." Roger shook his head. He looked at the jury, then at the attorney for the first time since the start of the trial. "Please don't make me do this."

The District Attorney immediately motioned for another recess. Luckily, the judge realized that the witness was distressed and called for a half-hour break. Mark hurriedly crossed the floor to the witness stand and guided Roger down, taking him into his arms. "Do you have to continue?" he asked, knowing full well that the answer would be yes. He wanted to try, though, for Roger's sake.

Roger held Mark. "Please don't make me do this," he whispered to no one in particular. "Mark, wasn't that enough? Everything else? I mean that makes sense, right?"

"You're doing fine, Roger. It makes sense, but remember, the more you can tell them, the more charges will stick. The jury needs to know what went on with him so Robert will get what he deserves. I know it's hard for you, but you're doing great. Just think about our plans tonight if you get overwhelmed. I'll protect you. There's nothing you can say that will make me leave you."

Roger looked to Mark and nodded. "I don't want them to think I'm disgusting," he said, indicating the now-empty jury box. "If they think that he'll never get in trouble for anything."

"They think you're a teenage boy," said Mark simply. He had actually slipped away from the office during jury selection, so he knew at least two jurors had teenage sons at home and knew all of what being a teenager entailed. "I don't think you have to worry about the jury."

Roger smiled at Mark as best he could. "After today... after today I don't have to do this again, right?" he asked. "It's over?"

Mark returned the smile. "Yes, it's over. And hopefully, you won't have to worry about Robert for a very long time."

Roger nodded. He swallowed. "Okay. I'm sorry I keep doing this, Mark. That I keep stopping the trial."

Mark wrapped Roger in a hug. "You're only human, Roger. This is hard. You're doing well, all things considered. You have the right to get upset."

Roger gave Mark his best smile. "I love you, Mark."

"I love you, too, Roger." Mark held him for a few minutes, until other people started entering the courtroom at the end of the recess. Mark went back to his seat and watched Roger climb back onto the witness stand.

After the court was called to order, the DA took her place in front of Roger again. "Roger, before we took a recess, you mentioned you were punished for breaking rules regarding bedroom practices. How else did the accused enforce these rules?"

Roger took a deep breath, quickly composed his speech mentally, and blurted the words with as much speed as possible without losing clarity: "He had this thing that I wore that was kind of like a harness so that it pinched my, um, testicles any time I got an erection."

Again a murmur went through the crowd. Mark could see several men wince at the thought of being pinched in that particular spot. He waited for the next question.

"Has this device had any lasting effects on you?"

"I don't know," Roger admitted. "I can't... it doesn't get hard anymore."

Much to Mark's relief, the attorney seemed satisfied with that. She went on to discuss Roger's daily routines and to question him about the times when Robert's temper got the better of him and he spent time on the porch. Finally, she asked about Roger's last days with Robert.

"Roger, can you describe the days leading to your departure from the accused's home, please."

Roger nodded. He took a deep breath. "After I went to see Mark, I still had a burn and things. I called him when I hurt. Usually it's not something I would complain about, but Mark was so nice... so I called him. Robert got mad. He punished me. Then he put me on the porch. I climbed out and... I looked Mark up. And I went to see him."

"What kind of punishment did Robert give that time?"

"I didn't go back," Roger said. "I stayed with Mark."

The district attorney looked over her notes and nodded. "I have no further questions, but reserve the right to recall the witness should clarification be needed." When the judge accepted this, Mark was relieved. Roger only had to be cross-examined now.

Roger swallowed nervously. Now he had to answer to Robert's lawyer. And he might have to come back.

Robert's lawyer was one of those overpriced attorneys from a firm with a dozen partners in the name who charged by the minute, not the hour. He wore a tailored suit, expensive shoes and had an air of importance about him. What he lacked was trial experience. He was a new associate at his firm and therefore was the cheapest among his overpriced brethren. This was his first case that actually reached trial. However, the witness did not know that.

He marched up to the stand and tried to look intimidating. Apparently, it worked as Roger was trembling in his seat. "Mr. Davis. Is it not true that you are the one who initiated the relationship with my client?"

"W-well... I talked to him," Roger admitted. "That first day, at the ice cream shop, I talked to him first. But he was the one who kissed me. And he was the one who... who said... that it would be better if I let him finish, or, that if I loved him, I wouldn't beg him to stop."

"You never objected to any of my client's actions. Nor did you express displeasure or being uncomfortable."

Roger was quiet for a long moment, then he said, "You didn't ask a question."

The young attorney blushed. Oops. He hadn't asked a question. He wouldn't make that mistake again. "Did you ever complain about your treatment to my client?"

Roger nodded. "I told him it hurt. I begged him to stop... in the beginning. But he punished me. I stopped."

Another mistake. He hadn't realized what Roger's answer would be. He tried again. "Mr. Davis. My client graciously provided you with shelter and food. What did he ask of you in return?"

"I was... available to him. All the time. No matter what. I left school. I cooked for him and cleaned for him and I was there any time he wanted me and the least he could've done was love me," Roger said, feeling his throat go raw. He covered his face with his hands. "Oh my god..." Why hadn't he realized this before? "He didn't love me. He just used me! He used me... and he said he loved me, but that's nothing like love..."

Mark wanted to run and take Roger into his arms. He seemed so forlorn and miserable. His heart ached for the young man who had been through so much.

The defense attorney blanched. This was not going well. His intention was to show that Roger had wanted the contact and enjoyed Robert's control. It was all backfiring though. He whispered to his client his advice. "I'd advise we let Roger leave. He's being unpredictable. Already he's gained the jury's sympathy and you never know what could come up with further testimony."

Roger was crying. It wasn't his usual sort of crying, the all-out sobbing and wailing, just tears and snot, but he held back. He could do this. He had to do this. Robert was a bastard and a menace and he deserved to be put away.

Robert could tell things were not going well for him and decided to heed his lawyer's advice to control the damage. He nodded his agreement and his attorney stood. "No further questions, your honor." The judge told Roger that he could go, and Mark quickly met him outside of the courtroom.

The moment he saw Mark, Roger smiled. He was still sobbing. He held Mark tightly, wanting to tell him that Robert was a bad person. "Mark, he's horrible. He's a bad person. He really is," Roger said.

"I know, Roger. You never deserved that. I'm so sorry." He held onto Roger and comforted him as best he could. "You don't have to worry about him much longer."

"No... no, Mark, listen: Robert was bad," Roger said, smiling. He wiped his eyes. "It was his fault. He's a bad person, I'm not."

Mark returned the smile and realized that Roger had a breakthrough. "No, you definitely are not a bad person. I'm so proud of you for realizing that. We've got a lot to celebrate tonight!"

Roger hugged him again. "Let's go home now," he whispered. "Let's just go home and... and eat pizza, and do this all night."

"You don't want to stay for the verdict?" When Roger shook his head, Mark smiled. "Didn't think so. I'll leave a message for the DA to call us when it's over. Let's go rent those movies."

Roger smiled back. He wrapped an arm around Mark's waist. "Mark... I love you," Roger said. "But you know what else is true? You love me."

Mark cuddled back. "Yes, I do love you. With all my heart."

_the end!_


End file.
